Evelyn. Yes.
Cecil. Good girl! [Leans over and kisses her cheek.]
Evelyn [sigh of contentment; sits up]. And now we must go and tell mother.
Cecil [with a comic groan]. Need we?
Evelyn [brightly]. Of course.
Cecil [sigh]. Well, if you think so.
Evelyn [laughing]. You don't seem to look forward to it much.
Cecil. I don't. That's the part I always hate.
Evelyn. Always? [Starts forward and looks at him, puzzled.]
Cecil [quite unconscious]. Yes. The going to the parents and all that. Parents really are the most preposterous people. They've no feeling for romance whatever. You meet a girl in a wood. It's May. The sun's shining. There's not a cloud in the sky. She's adorably pretty. You fall in love. Everything heavenly! Then—why, I can't imagine—she wants you to tell her mother. Well, you do tell her mother. And her mother at once begins to ask you what your profession is, and how much money you earn, and how much money you have that you don't earn—and that spoils it all.