Isabel St. George.
Dacre.
Billy Danvers.

At the Rensselaer's Dance in the suburbs of London. With the opening bars of "Chantilly," there is a general move among the couples grouped about the conservatory, which is hung with Chinese lanterns. So is the garden. Isabel St. George sits motionless as her partner bows and leaves her. The conservatory is deserted.

Isabel (examining her programme): What is next? I can hardly see. Fourteen! Ah! I gave it to Billy Danvers. That is all right; he won't make me dance it unless I want, poor boy. Or talk either! Oh, if people only knew how hard it is to laugh and talk nonsense when one's heart is sore! It's a woman's métier, I suppose, and if she can't do it, she should stay at home. Why did I insist on coming here? It is torture to see him—but it is agony to stay away and not see him. . . . Well, I have seen him. If only I had the courage to go home now! . . . I can't, I can't. I must stay for my one little wretched dance with him. Fifteen! A mere crumb from the table where Flossie sits, and is the honoured guest! And I take it thankfully, and I try not to faint in his arms, and shut my eyes and fancy his are meeting mine, though I know, if I open them, I shall see him simply looking out for "smashes," and steering beautifully, as he always does, and not thinking of me at all. (Shivers and lies back.) And yet—I am not an utter, vain fool—he did like me once. I know he did, but now it is all different, it is only I who am the same. (A couple of figures pass across the door of the conservatory.) There he is—I know his back—with Flossie! I am not jealous, I don't hate her, but I wish—I wish she had married Arthur last year! (Vaguely, to the stars.) Oh why, why need I love him so? . . . Is that you, Billy? (To a very young man who comes stumbling blindly out to the conservatory.)

Billy: Wheeler told me I should find you here.

Isabel: Yes, come and sit down. I don't want to dance.

Billy (sits down heavily beside her): I'm sure I don't. It's awfully hot! one would think it was May or June. That Barn Dance with Flossie Rensselaer about "finished" me! Besides, I had far rather talk to an old "pal" like you, any day.

Isabel: Thank you, Billy. I am not "much" at talking to-night.

Billy: You are pale! You do too much. It's that blessed Art School you go to. But I like you anyway, Bell; you are so soothing. Soothe me!

Isabel: You look very nice. What's that green thing in your button-hole?

Billy: Oh, haven't you seen them? A green carnation. Newest thing out. They water them with arsenic, you know, and it turns them green.

Isabel: How horrid! Quite morbid, like the way they treat the poor geese at Strasburg.

Billy: Not worse than yellow camellias, or blue roses.

Isabel (pensively): Ah! everybody wants a Blue Rose—the heart's desire!

Billy: Oh, yes, I know all that rot, but green carnations cost a good deal, you know. This was Dacre's, but he seemed to agree with you. He didn't "take stock" in it and gave it to me. I like Dacre.

Isabel (impulsively): Let me have it in my hand a minute!

Billy: Hands off, Bell! You may smell it on the tree. I am not going to give it you. It's a gage d'amour between Dacre and me.

Isabel (nervously): You very cheeky boy! Mr. Dacre is ten years older than you at least, and I don't want your horrid pâté de foie gras flower! (A pause.) Well, why do you want soothing? Who has been trampling on your tender years? Whom have you been dancing with? Flossie?

Billy: No, thank you, I don't care to halve dances with Dacre.

Isabel (wearily): Well, who is it, then?

Billy: It is nobody, I tell you. Girls always think a fellow must be in love with some one. I am not going to fall in love any more till I have passed my exam. Life is too serious for that sort of humbug——

Isabel (mockingly): You know, Billy, when you are a little diplomat, it will be one of your special duties to dance and flirt and make love prettily.

Billy: To flirt! ah, I can manage that. (With conviction.) But I do think falling in love is an awful mistake, don't you? I have very strong views about all that, and I mean to steer clear of bother—as yet. I get on very well. I am not in love with anybody, not even with you.

Isabel (rather bitterly): It's very easy not to be in love with me.

Billy (politely): Not at all, it "takes me all my time" I can tell you; but I am too young for you don't you think.

Isabel: Ah, Billy, I see you have something to learn yet.

Billy (injured): There is a snub in that, I know, only I can't make it out. And you're laughing at me! Yes you are!

Isabel: I beg your pardon. . . . . .

"And if I laugh at any mortal thing
'Tis that I may not weep."

Billy (more injured): And now, you're quoting poetry at me! It is not fair: I am not up in that kind of thing.

Isabel: You should stick to Flossie. I don't suppose she ever read a line even of Byron in her life. She doesn't snub you———?

Billy: No, you bet! But I like your "nasty way" better than her flirting nonsense. Do oyu know Bell, that if I had passed by exam——— (Looking at her earnestly.)

Isabel: Take care, Billy, I shouldn't suit you at all.

Billy: Oh, I know you are very old, Bell. I mean, of course, compared to me—why, you are twenty-two, at least———

Isabel: I tell you I am not "in the running." Now, Flossie———

Billy: I wish you would not keep making me a present of Flossie. Except for her dollars she would bore me to death.

Isabel: She doesn't seem—to bore—Mr. Dacre?

Billy: Well, no! Look at them now! It's all up with him.

Isabel: You think that———?

Billy: How can one help noticing anything so obvious—to-night especially! They are inseparable. He can hardly help proposing. . . . Nothing but a Dacre will do for Flossie, it seems. She has run through the whole family. Fred was awfully gone on her, and Arthur was actually engaged to her last season, only things went wrong somehow. I know. Flossie's awful sport; but she's not a bad sort, really—only a bit flighty. . . . I have got a note here she shoved into my hand in the tea-room. Shall I show it you?

Isabel (leaning forward): Is it———? You ought not, I suppose. . . . (With sudden fury) I'll never speak to you again if you do.

Billy: Of course I shan't—I was only "ragging." It is nothing, only to ask me to let her off three dances she had promised me. She wanted them for Dacre, of course.

Isabel (interrogatively): She is just the kind of girl who appeals to men———?

Billy: yes, she's always appealing and "making eyes." I hate it. We all think Dacre's a d———d fool. It's the family mania on him. But he has gone too far to go back now. Look here, I'll bet you—I'll bet you anything you like that it comes off to-night. I can find out. Besides, I've watched them. Do lay me something on it.

Isabel: But then I shall have to bet it won't come off, and I know it will. I have watched them, too.

Billy: Never mind; do it for the sake of argument, as neither of us cares twopence either way. Dacre's a good fellow though. I've always liked him since I heard of that awful good turn he did my eldest brother at Eton.

Isabel (biting a rose): What?

Billy: Oh, I forget now, but I know I liked him for it, and I'm sorry that American girl has got him. He's too good for her. (Meditatively.) [151] Perhaps, though, her money may have something to do with it, else he would hardly be such an ass. He wants to go into Parliament, I know. What are you trying to do?

Isabel: See my programme.

Billy (muttering): Who on earth wants a programme? These nouveaux riches———!

Isabel: Manners, Billy! Do you happen to have Fifteen?

Billy: No, gave it away. Why? want to cut it?

Isabel (sombrely): Yes.

Billy (curiously): Whose is it?

Isabel (laughing): Billy, you are presuming on our intimacy! Remember I am a young lady who has been out three seasons, and you are a little boy I can use to cut dances with; but I am not bound to name names to you.

Billy: But I am sorry for him, poor beggar, whoever he is. You look so splendid to-night, and you are not pale now, but so red, so red. . . . . . I say, there's that rattling good polka, "Cut and Run!" Oh I can't miss that.

Isabel: Of course not. Run along. I will wait here (leans back).

Billy: Really leave you here? (going). By the bye, what is our bet to be?

Isabel: I don't know. Anything! A green carnation.

Billy: Aha! you did want it! I say, Bell, I've a great mind to stay and see who it is you want to shirk!

Isabel: No. Cut and run! Your partner will be inconsolable.

He goes. Enter Dacre.

Dacre (shortly): Our dance. Come and see the Night-flowering Cereus, in the hot house at the bottom of the garden. They say there is one.

Isabel (rather stiffly): I am not Flossie, Mr. Dacre.

Dacre: No, thank God, you are not. (Tenderly) This is your little fluffy white shawl that I have fetched out of the cloak room for you, is it not? I noticed it particularly as you came in. Let us go and look at this fabulous flower. Everybody has been but me, and I waited till I could go with you. I am glad to say that I have done all my duty dances.

Isabel (really surprised): But you were dancing with Flossie?

Dacre: Yes, she is going to marry my brother Arthur after all. I have pulled it straight. He was so miserable about her. You have no idea how it has worried me all these months. Come.

(He puts the shawl carefully round her and they go out into the garden. They pass Billy, who is disconsolately seeking his partner for "Cut and Run.")

Billy (involuntarily): Hullo! (whispers) That is not fair. You are trying to get the straight tip.

Isabel (shyly, over her shoulder): You may as well pay me that green carnation, Billy!

V. H.