Penelope: A Comedy in Three Acts

by W. Somerset Maugham

Penelope.

[Looking at him blankly.] The Archduchess Anastasia? But I invented her.

Barlow.

What d’you mean, you invented her? I know her well, I’ve known her for years. I know her whole family.

Penelope.

[Rather embarrassed, but trying not to laugh.] Well, you see—I wanted you to come, too. And....

Barlow.

I don’t understand what you mean at all, Penelope. You mention one of my most intimate friends, and then you tell me you invented her.

Penelope.

I’m awfully sorry. I really didn’t know there was such a person, and I thought I’d made her up out of my own head.... [With a chuckle.] I think it was rather clever of me to hit upon some one you know so well.