Her Lady. Indeed it is an unusual sight.
Lady Cullen. And O what a sad infatuation on the part of my poor boy.
Her Lady. The war has been known to turn many a brain.
Lady Cullen. And yet my son holds his own with the brightest intelligences of the day.
Her Lady. Only one little spot of his lordship’s brain seems to be affected.
Lady Cullen. Just so. But here he comes, poor misguided youth.
[Lord Cullen comes slowly over the green, looking to right and to left. He mounts the dais and sits down by his mother, and the music plays for a country dance. “The Twenty Ninth of May.” The girls arrange themselves, and during the dance Lord Cullen scans each face very eagerly. The dance ends and the girls pass in single file before the dais.
Lord Cullen. No, no—that was not the music of it, that was not the dance—not a face among them resembles the image I carry in my heart.
Lady Cullen. [Aside.] Thank goodness. May that face never be seen again.
[A fresh group come up and another dance is formed and danced.