[Exit.
Enter Renée de Rould.
Renée. Mr. Mérital, may I speak to you a moment?
Georges Alexandre Mérital (with, characteristic suavity). Certainly.
Renée, I love you. Will you marry me?
Mérital (surprised). Well, really—this is—I—you—we—er, he, she, they—Frankly, you embarrass me. (Apologetically) This is my embarrassed face.
Renée. But I thought you loved me. Don't you?
Mérital. No. That is to say, yes. Or rather—
Renée (tearfully). I w-wish you could make it plainer whether you d-do love me and are pretending you don't, or you d-don't love me and are pretending you do. It's v-very unsettling for a young girl not to know.
Sir GEORGES ALEXANDRE (surprised and a little hurt). Can't you tell from my face?