Jen. (rather hurt at the mistake). Northcott.
Spread. Northcott, of course. I beg your pardon—I should have said Northcott. And you are not Mrs. Braybrook? You are not even married! Why, what were they about—what were they about? Not married! Well, now, do you know, I am very sorry to hear that. I am really more sorry and disappointed than I can tell you. (She looks surprised and rather hurt.) You’d have made an admirable wife, Jane, and an admirable mother. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to find that you are still Jane Northbrook—I should say, Northcott.
Jen. The same in name—much changed in everything else. (Sighing.)
Spread. Changed? Not a bit—I won’t hear of it. I knew you the moment I saw you! We are neither of us changed. Mellowed perhaps—a little mellowed, but what of that? Who shall say that the blossom is pleasanter to look upon than the fruit? Not I for one, Jane—not I for one.
Jen. Time has dealt very kindly with us, but we’re old folks now, Henry Spreadbrow. (Rises.)
Spread. I won’t allow it, Jane—I won’t hear it. (Rises.) What constitutes youth? A head of hair? Not at all; I was as bald as an egg at five and twenty—babies are always bald. Eyesight? Some people are born blind. Years? Years are an arbitrary impertinence. Am I an old man or you an old woman, because the earth contrives to hurry round the sun in three hundred and sixty-five days? Why, Saturn can’t do it in thirty years. If I had been born on Saturn I should be two years old, ma’am—a public nuisance in petticoats. Let us be thankful that I was not born on Saturn. No—no, as long as I can ride to cover twice a week, walk my five and twenty miles without turning a hair, go to bed at twelve, get up at six, turn into a cold tub and like it, I’m a boy, Jane—a boy—a boy!
Jen. And you are still unmarried?
Spread. I? Oh dear, yes—very much so. No time to think of marriage. Plenty of opportunity, mind, but no leisure to avail myself of it. I’ve had a bustling time of it, I assure you, Jane, working hard at the Bar and on the Bench, with some success—with some success; (sits again) and now that I’ve done my work, I throw myself back in my easy-chair, fold my hands, cross my legs, and prepare to enjoy myself. Life is before me, and I’m going to begin it. Ha, ha! And so we are really Jane Northcott still?
Jen. Still Jane Northcott.