Mrs. Dot: A Farce

by W. Somerset Maugham

Gerald.

Well, three years ago we were staying at the same place in the country, and I was a young fool.

Mrs. Dot.

You mean that there was no other girl there, and so you flirted with her. But you need not have asked her to marry you.

Gerald.

[Apologetically.] It was the merest accident. It came to pieces in my ’ands, so to speak.

Mrs. Dot.

Really?

Gerald.

We were taking a walk in the garden after dinner, and a perfectly absurd moon was shining. It seemed the obvious thing to do.