Mrs. Dot: A Farce

by W. Somerset Maugham

Mrs. Dot.

Don’t be so absurd. I never heard that the course of true love ran any less smoothly because a charming widow had sixty thousand a year.

Gerald.

What do you mean?

Mrs. Dot.

My dear boy, I’m not a perfect fool. A man thinks a woman never sees anything unless she looks at it with both eyes at once wide open. Don’t you know that she can see things through the back of her head with a stone wall in between?

Gerald.

What have you seen, then?

Mrs. Dot.

I’ve seen a thousand things. I’ve seen your eyes light up when I came into the room, I’ve seen you watch me when you thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve seen you scowl at any young fool who paid me an outrageous compliment. I’ve seen the pleasure it gave you to do me any trifling service. I’ve seen you watch for the opportunity of putting my cloak on my shoulders after the play. And—I’m sorry—but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re in love with me. I dare say the fact has escaped your notice, but that’s only because men are so deplorably stupid.