MABEL.
But I hate waiting patiently.
HILDA.
You shouldn't have let him out of your sight.
MABEL.
He went to Putney after luncheon to see your friend Mr. Kent. Have you seen him lately?
HILDA.
John? I saw him at the Martins yesterday.
MABEL.
[_Slyly._] I meant Mr. Kent.
HILDA.
[_Indifferently._] Yes. He called the other day. [_To change the conversation._] You're unusually silent, Mr. Brackley.
BRACKLEY.
[_Smiling._] I have nothing whatever to say.
MABEL.
That's usually when clever people talk most.
HILDA.
Are you doing anything now?
BRACKLEY.
Oh yes, I'm writing a play in blank verse.
HILDA.
You brave man. What is it about?
BRACKLEY.
Cleopatra.
HILDA.
Dear me! Shakespeare wrote a play about Cleopatra, didn't he?
BRACKLEY.
I daresay. I haven't read it. Shakespeare bores me. He lived so long ago.
MABEL.
Of course there are people who read him.
BRACKLEY.
Are there? What do they look like?
HILDA.
[_Smiling._] They bear no distinctive mark of their eccentricity.
BRACKLEY.
The English are so original.
MABEL.
I think I shall go and ring up the flat. I wonder if John has gone straight home.
BRACKLEY.
Do. I'm growing very uneasy about him.
MABEL.
[_Laughing._] You absurd creature.
[_She goes out._
HILDA.
You talk more nonsense than anyone I ever met.
BRACKLEY.
That's my stock in trade. You don't imagine people would read my poems if they knew that I was sober, industrious, and economical. As a matter of fact I lead the virtuous life of a clergyman's daughter, but not a reviewer would notice me if he knew it.
HILDA.
And the little things that the indiscreet read of in the papers....
BRACKLEY.