Four Short Plays

by Lady Florence Eveleen Eleanore Olliffe Bell

[Welburn sits up].

Welburn. The old fool badgering me about Oxford! That was an inspiration, wasn't it, pretending to be mad. How was it? Was that all right?

Mary. Splendid.

Welburn. Upon my word, I feel almost mad in reality when I think of his saying that I played out of tune, and raking up the Somerville girls, and all that.

Mary. Had you really forgotten the charmer in pink?

Welburn. Forgotten her! [Groans]. How could I? I married her.

Mary. What! Was she—

Welburn. My wife? Of course she was—of course she is—that's the point I mind most.

Mary. She must be very clever if she took a First.

Welburn. That's just it. She is—that's the awful part. Now I'm not clever, you know. I didn't take a First. She knows that, so she thinks she has a better head than I have, and upon my soul, I don't know what to do about it.