You Can Never Tell

how very little you understand my real character. I am not in the least offended. He pauses and puts his hat down again. I am always willing to be told of my own defects, Mr. Valentine, by my friends, even when they are as absurdly mistaken about me as you are. I have many faults⁠—very serious faults⁠—of character and temper; but if there is one thing that I am not, it is what you call a prig. She closes her lips trimly and looks steadily and challengingly at him as she sits more collectedly than ever. Valentine Returning to the end of the garden seat to confront her more emphatically. Oh, yes, you are. My reason tells me so: my knowledge tells me so: my experience tells me so. Gloria Excuse my reminding you that your reason and your knowledge and your experience are not infallible. At least I hope not. Valentine I must believe them. Unless you wish me to believe my eyes, my heart, my instincts, my imagination, which are all telling me the most monstrous lies about you. Gloria The collectedness beginning to relax. Lies! Valentine Obstinately. Yes, lies. He sits down again beside her. Do you expect me to believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the world? Gloria That is ridiculous, and rather personal. Valentine Of course it’s ridiculous. Well, that’s what my eyes tell me. Gloria makes a movement of contemptuous protest. No: I’m not flattering. I tell you I don’t believe it. She is ashamed to find that this does not quite please her either. Do you think that if you were to turn away in disgust from my weakness, I should sit down here and cry like a child? Gloria Beginning to find that she must speak shortly and pointedly to keep her voice steady. Why should you, pray? Valentine With a stir of feeling beginning to agitate his voice. Of course not: I’m not such an idiot. And yet my heart tells me I should⁠—my fool of a heart. But I’ll argue with my heart and bring it to reason. If I loved you a thousand times, I’ll force myself to look the truth steadily in the face. After all, it’s easy to be sensible: the facts are the facts. What’s this place? it’s not heaven: it’s the Marine Hotel. What’s the time? it’s not eternity: it’s about half past one in the afternoon. What am I? a dentist⁠—a five shilling dentist! Gloria And I am a feminine prig. Valentine Passionately. No, no: I can’t face that: I must have one illusion left⁠—the illusion about you. I love you. He turns towards her as if the impulse to touch her were ungovernable: she rises and stands on her guard wrathfully. He springs up impatiently and retreats a step. Oh, what a fool I am!⁠—an idiot! You don’t understand: I might as well talk to the stones on the beach. He turns away, discouraged. Gloria Reassured by his withdrawal, and a little remorseful. I am sorry. I do not mean to be unsympathetic, Mr. Valentine; but what can I say? Valentine Returning to her with all his recklessness of manner replaced by an engaging and chivalrous respect. You can say nothing, Miss Clandon. I beg your pardon: it was my own fault, or rather my own bad luck. You see, it all depended on your naturally liking me. She is about to speak: he stops her deprecatingly. Oh, I know you mustn’t tell me whether you like me or not; but⁠— Gloria Her principles up in arms at once. Must not! Why not? I am a free woman: why should I not tell you? Valentine Pleading in terror, and retreating. Don’t. I’m afraid to hear. Gloria No longer scornful. You need not be afraid. I think you are sentimental, and a little foolish; but I like you. Valentine Dropping into the iron chair as if crushed. Then it’s all over. He becomes the picture of despair. Gloria Puzzled, approaching him. But why? Valentine Because liking is not enough. Now that I think down into it seriously, I don’t know whether I like you or not. Gloria Looking down at him with wondering concern. I’m sorry. Valentine In an agony of restrained passion. Oh, don’t pity me. Your voice is tearing my heart to pieces. Let me alone, Gloria. You go down into the very depths of me, troubling and stirring me⁠—I can’t struggle with it⁠—I can’t tell you⁠— Gloria Breaking down suddenly. Oh, stop telling me what you feel: I can’t bear it. Valentine Springing up triumphantly, the agonized voice now solid, ringing, and jubilant. Ah, it’s come at last⁠—my moment of courage. He seizes her hands: she looks at him in terror. Our moment of courage! He draws her to him; kisses her with impetuous strength; and laughs boyishly. Now you’ve done it, Gloria. It’s all over: we’re in love with one another. She can only gasp at him. But what a dragon you were! And how hideously afraid I was! Philip’s voice Calling from the beach. Valentine! Dolly’s voice Mr. Valentine! Valentine Goodbye. Forgive me. He rapidly kisses her hands, and runs away to the steps, where he meets Mrs. Clandon, ascending. Gloria, quite lost, can only start after him. Mrs. Clandon The children want you, Mr. Valentine. She looks anxiously around. Is he gone? Valentine Puzzled. He? Recollecting. Oh, Crampton. Gone this long time, Mrs. Clandon. He runs off buoyantly down the steps. Gloria Sinking upon the seat. Mother! Mrs. Clandon Hurrying to her in alarm. What is it, dear? Gloria With heartfelt, appealing reproach. Why didn’t you educate me properly? Mrs. Clandon Amazed. My child: I did my best. Gloria Oh, you taught me nothing⁠—nothing. Mrs. Clandon What is the matter with you? Gloria With the most intense expression. Only shame⁠—shame⁠—shame. Blushing unendurably, she covers her face with her hands and turns away from her mother.