MRS. KNOWLE. Jane, dear, would you mind coming with me to the drawing-room, and helping me to--er----
BOBBY (with his mouth full). May I come too, Mrs. Knowle?
MELISANDE. You haven't finished your tea, Bobby.
BOBBY. I shan't be a moment. (He picks up his cup.)
MRS. KNOWLE. Please come, dear Mr. Coote, when you have finished.
(JANE turns at the door, sees that MELISANDE is not looking, and blows a hasty kiss to BOBBY.)
BOBBY. No thanks. (He gets up and walks towards the door.)
MELISANDE. There's something I want to say to you. Don't go.
BOBBY. Oh! Righto. (He comes slowly back.)
MELISANDE (with difficulty, after a pause). I made a mistake yesterday.
BOBBY (not understating). A mistake? Yesterday?
MELISANDE. Yes. . . . You were quite right.
MELISANDE. When you said that girls didn't know their own minds.
BOBBY. Oh! (With an awkward laugh) Yes. Well--er--I don't expect any of us do, really, you know. I mean--er--that is to say----
MELISANDE. I'm sorry I said what I did say to you last night, Bobby. I oughtn't to have said all those things.
MELISANDE. I didn't mean them. And--and Bobby--I _will_ marry you if you like.
MELISANDE. And it was silly of me to mind your calling me Sandy, and to say what I did about your clothes, and I _will_ marry you, Bobby. And--and thank you for wanting it so much.
MELISANDE (offering her cheek). You may kiss me if you like, Bobby.
BOBBY. I say! . . . Er--er--(he kisses her gingerly) thanks! . . . Er--I say----
BOBBY. I say, you know--(he tries again) I don't want you to--to feel that--I mean, just because I asked you twice--I mean I don't want you to feel that--well, I mean you mustn't do it just for _my_ sake, Sandy. I mean Melisande.
MELISANDE. It isn't that, Bobby. It isn't that.
BOBBY. You know, I was thinking about it last night--afterwards, you know--and I began to see, I began to see that perhaps you were right. I mean about my not being romantic and--and all that. I mean, I'm rather an ordinary sort of chap, and----
MELISANDE (sadly). We are all rather ordinary sort of chaps.
BOBBY (eagerly). No, no. No, that's where you're wrong, Sandy. I mean Melisande. You _aren't_ ordinary. I don't say you'd be throwing yourself away on me, but--but I think you could find somebody more suitable. (Earnestly). I'm sure you could. I mean somebody who would remember to call you Melisande, and who would read poetry with you and--and all that. I mean, there are lots of fellows----