Gunning.
[With conviction.] You won"t go.
Miss Woodward.
But I will.
Gunning.
My dear Miss Woodward, believe me, you will not.
Miss Woodward.
You don"t propose using force, I suppose?
Gunning.
No; I think you would like me to, but unfortunately this is not our house, and one must observe the convenances.
Miss Woodward.
[Going to door, L.] Good-bye, Mr. Gunning.
Gunning.
Moral force will detain you.
Miss Woodward.
What moral force, pray?
[Turning.
Gunning.
Curiosity. You know you are dying to know what I have to say.
Miss Woodward.
Indeed I am not.
Gunning.
Oh yes, you are. And further, a certain womanly graciousness will prevent your going. You are saying to yourself, "Mr. Gunning has evinced a genuine interest in me. It would be cattish of me to refuse him a few minutes" talk."
Miss Woodward.
[Slowly comes to sofa and puts her books down.] I certainly don"t wish to be cattish.
Gunning.
Of course not.
Miss Woodward.
[Sits on sofa.] And anyway I want to eat my piece of cake. Will you pa.s.s it, please? [He pa.s.ses the plate.] Thank you. I hope you won"t mind my eating.
Gunning.
Not at all. I like it.
Miss Woodward.
Not that I fear it would make any difference if you did.
Gunning.
No, certainly not. Go on being natural, please. [Pause. He watches her nibbling the cake.] Shall I ring for a fresh piece?
Miss Woodward.
No, thank you. I"m used to this piece now. [She glances up at him.] You needn"t be disconcerted, Mr. Gunning.
Gunning.
I"m not a bit.
Miss Woodward.
You look it a little.
Gunning.
Do I?
Miss Woodward.
And you know you didn"t detain me here to watch me eating cake.
Gunning.
No, although you do it very nicely. I want to ask you what you think of me.
[Leaning on back of chair, R.C.
Miss Woodward.
I haven"t thought of you.
Gunning.
Well, I"d like you to begin.
Miss Woodward.
I"m afraid I haven"t time now.
Gunning.
It might be to your interest, though I don"t say positively that it would be.
Miss Woodward.
Explain.
[Turns to him.
Gunning.
I think I ought first to tell you something about myself.
Miss Woodward.
[In mock alarm.] Not the story of your life, surely. My cab will be here soon.
Gunning.
You told me yours last night?
Miss Woodward.
You asked me to. I haven"t asked you.
Gunning.
You needn"t reproach me for taking an interest in you.
Miss Woodward.
I don"t; but you make such a fuss about it, as if it were a sort of miracle.
Gunning.
[Crossly takes plate from her lap and cake from her hand; puts them on table, R.] Oh well, I suppose I oughtn"t to detain you, Miss Woodward. You are evidently anxious to get back to your twelve sisters and the hat and frock you told me about.
Miss Woodward.
[Rises.] You needn"t throw the family poverty in my face, although it serves me right for giving my confidence to a comparative stranger.
Gunning.
Miss Woodward, I humbly beg your pardon.
Miss Woodward.
Although the home may be grubby, I daresay we are as happy as you. We believe in things, anyway-you don"t.
Gunning.
Don"t judge me by a hasty remark. Besides, I had an alternative to suggest.
Miss Woodward.
You? You don"t want a secretary, do you?
Gunning.
I-I wanted to tell you in a different way, but you won"t let me. I want you as my wife.
Miss Woodward.
Your wife, Mr. Gunning?
Gunning.
It may appear sudden and cold-blooded-but your cab is coming.
Miss Woodward.
You"ve taken my breath away. How exciting it is when it does come. I really don"t know what to say. I know there is a usual thing. It isn"t "To what am I indebted for this honour," is it?
Gunning.
I don"t know. I"ve never asked a girl before.
Miss Woodward.
We don"t know each other in the least.
Gunning.
That"s where we would start with a big advantage. We"d have all the pleasure of finding each other out. Anyway, you are not displeased.
Miss Woodward.
Oh no; either way I score. If I say yes, I suppose I"ll make a good match.
Gunning.