[Rises with two notes in hand.
Stuart. And you mustn’t let them find out their mistake till to-morrow.
[Exits Polly b. d.
Fred. Do you think that’s honourable?
Stuart. It’s too soon after dinner for me to discuss ethics. But for you it’s the chance of a lifetime. You know what Miss Wortley is to wear. Go and make yourself agreeable to her, and if her mask gives you courage, tell her that you love her.
Fred. You don’t understand. I’m not afraid to tell her that to her face. It’s not the woman I’m afraid of. If she were poor, I could have said to her as I say to myself, fifty times a day, “I love you.” But I can’t say that to her money.
Stuart. And so you are going to place your Brunhilde on the top of her gold and then fear to climb the fiery mountain? Why, Fred, tell her that you love her, and leave it for her to decide whether it’s the woman or the wealth you care for.
Fred. I can’t bear to give her the chance even to think I’m sordid.
Stuart. Nonsense, my boy! Go and tell Miss Wortley that you love her before it’s too late. Make her the prettiest compliment a man can pay a woman, and if she has the bad taste to think it’s her money and not her beauty and sweetness, you are no worse off.
Fred. Mr. Stuart, I’ve tried to say it and to write it. I’ve begun sentence after sentence; I’ve torn up letter after letter. It’s no good.