Ned. Why it’s all you! I thought of no one else, and called the heroine “Alma” after you. (sits R. of table)
Alma. You dear old goose! If I were a manager, I should accept your pieces without reading them.
Ned. Excuse me. If you were a manager, you would reject them without reading them.
Alma. Not yours. You are my oldest admirer.
Ned. What nonsense! I never met you till last year.
Alma. Well, what of that? I’ve had a score since then, but they’ve all disappeared, and there you are still.
Ned. Faithful to the last.
Alma. The last’s a long way off yet, Mr. Chetwynd. He’s trundling a hoop somewhere at this moment. But he’ll turn up. Each season brings its crop. They’re mostly annuals, my loves.
Ned. I am an amaranth.
Alma. That locket on your chain? Isn’t it the one you put my portrait in? (rises to examine it)