SUSAN. Why not? If it's the woman you love at first sight, not only the face.
GERVASE. I see. (After a pause) It's rather hard to tell, you know. I suppose the proper thing to do is to ask her to have breakfast with you, and see how you get on.
GERVASE (laughing). And propose to her after breakfast?
SUSAN. If you will. It is better than proposing to her at a ball as some young people do, carried away suddenly by a snatched kiss in the moonlight.
GERVASE (shaking his head). Nothing like that happened last night.
SUSAN. What does the Great Alfred say of the kiss?
SUSAN. "The kiss," says the Great Alfred, "the woven arms, seem but to be weak symbols of the settled bliss, the comfort, I have found in thee." The same idea, Mr. Mallory. Companionship, or the art of having breakfast with a person. (Getting up) Well, I must be moving on. _We_ have been companions for a short time; I thank you for it. I wish you well.
GERVASE (getting up). I say, I've been awfully glad to meet you. And I shall never forget the breakfast you gave me.
GERVASE (hesitatingly). You won't mind my having another one when Ernest comes back--I mean, if Ernest comes back? You won't think I'm slighting yours in any way? But after an outdoor bathe, you know, one does----
SUSAN. Please! I am happy to think you have such an appetite.
GERVASE (holding out his hand). Well, good-bye, Mr. Susan, (SUSAN looks at his hand doubtfully, and GERVASE says with a laugh) Oh, come on!
SUSAN (shaking it). Good-bye, Mr. Mallory.
GERVASE. And I shan't forget what you said.
SUSAN (smiling). I expect you will, Mr. Mallory. Good-bye.
GERVASE (calling after him). Because it wasn't the moonlight, it wasn't really. It was just _Her_. (To himself) It was just _Her_. . . . I suppose the great Whatsisname would say, "It was just She," but then, that isn't what I mean.
(GERVASE watches him going down the hill. Then he turns to the other side, says, "Hallo!" suddenly in great astonishment, and withdraws a few steps.)
GERVASE. It can't be! (He goes cautiously forward and looks again) It is!
(He comes back, and walks gently off through the trees.)
(MELISANDE comes in. She has no hat; her hair is in two plaits to her waist; she is wearing a dress which might belong to any century. She stands in the middle of the glade, looks round it, holds out her hands to it for a moment, and then clasps them with a sigh of happiness. . . .)