Lady C. They were fresh yesterday.
Sir G. (C.) To-days and yesterdays are different things.
(holds the bouquet, head downwards)
Rose. It wasn’t the flowers, though. Aunt Bell didn’t like the play
Philip. It isn’t everybody who admires French plays.
Sir G. (to Lady Carlyon) What, were you scandalised? You must know, Philip—you do know, of course—Lady Carlyon is a dragon in her way—the very pink and pattern of propriety. Now, I’ll be bound, she didn’t like the moral of that comedy.
Lady C. Had it a moral?
Sir G. Certainly! and one men would do well to lay to heart. If that young man——
Rose. The one with the moustache?
Sir G. Had buried his first love when it was dead, he wouldn’t have been haunted by its ghost. When passion is burnt out, sweep the hearth clean, and clear away the ash, before you set alight another fire. It is a law of life. Old things give place to new. The loves of yesterday are like these faded flowers, fit only to be cast into the flames. (flings bouquet into fire) That is the moral: and I call it excellent. (sits, C., and looks at Philip)