Horace. You are doomed to failure. Give it up—and please let me go home. I’m nearly always in bed by half-past eleven.
Messenger. No. Your lesson is only just beginning. Have you forgotten Minnie?
Horace. Forgotten her? Rather not! Dear little girl! She is awfully gone on me.
Messenger. Hush, hush! She is one whom it pains to see a fault in you. Love, the elementary Otherdom, possesses her. A divine gift of madness set in opposition to the cold logic of Self. She did love you——
Horace. Did? She does, and don’t you make any mistake about it!
Messenger. Listen a while. (Waves his hand and the interior of house lights up and discovers Minnie and Dicey chatting.)
Dicey. This is our dance, I think.
Minnie. Isn’t it a lovely dance? I’m so glad we came, and it was all thanks to you.
Dicey. Oh, you mustn’t thank me any more. I’m over-rewarded. But is Mr. Parker often like that?