[_Very gravely._] Then you must do as you think best.... You're playing the most dangerous game in the world. You're playing with human hearts.... Good-bye.
HILDA.
[_Taking his hand._] Good-bye, John. You're not angry with me because I was horrid.... I'm glad you told me about his wife. Now I shall know what to do.
JOHN.
Mabel.
MABEL.
[_Coming forward._] Yes, we really must be going. I've not seen my precious baby for two hours.
HILDA.
[_Taking both her hands._] Good-bye, you happy child. You've got a precious baby, and you've got a husband you love. What can you want more?
MABEL.
[_Flippantly._] I want a motor-car.
HILDA.
[_Kissing her._] Good-bye, darling.
[MABEL _and_ JOHN _go out_.
BRACKLEY.
I like this room, Mrs. Murray. It never seems to say to you: now it's really time for you to go away, as some drawing-rooms do.
HILDA.
[_Recovering her serenity._] I suppose it's the furniture. I'm thinking of changing it.
BRACKLEY.
[_With a smile._] Upon my word, that almost suggests that I've outstayed my welcome.
HILDA.
[_Gaily._] I shouldn't have said that if I didn't know that nothing would induce you to go till you wanted to.
BRACKLEY.
[_Rising._] You know me like your glove. But it really is growing monstrous late.
HILDA.
You mustn't go till you've told me who the fair charmer was I saw you with at the play last night.
BRACKLEY.
Ah, the green-eyed monster!
HILDA.
[_Laughing._] Don't be so absurd, but I thought you'd like to know her yellow hair was dyed.
[BASIL _looks over the pages of a book_, _somewhat annoyed that_ HILDA _takes no notice of him_.
BRACKLEY.
Of course it was dyed. That was just the charm of it. Any woman can have yellow hair naturally: there's no more credit in that than in having it blue or green.
HILDA.
I've always wanted to make mine purple.
BRACKLEY.
Don't you think women ought to be artificial? It's just as much their duty to rouge their cheeks and powder their noses as it is for them to wear nice frocks.
HILDA.
But I know many women who wear horrid frocks.
BRACKLEY.
Oh, those are the others. I treat them as non-existent.
_Hilda._
What do you mean?
BRACKLEY.
There are only two sorts of women in the world--the women who powder their noses and the others.
HILDA.
And who are they if you please?
BRACKLEY.
I haven't examined the matter very carefully, but I understand they are clergymen's daughters by profession.
[_He shakes hands with her._