You Can Never Tell

the waiter. You don’t mind our detaining you, I hope. Mr. Bohun wishes it. Waiter Now quite at his ease. Oh, no, ma’am, not at all, ma’am. It is a pleasure to me to watch the working of his trained and powerful mind⁠—very stimulating, very entertaining and instructive indeed, ma’am. Bohun Resuming command of the proceedings. Now, Mr. Crampton: we are waiting for you. Do you give up your objection to the dressing, or do you stick to it? Crampton Pleading. Mr. Bohun: consider my position for a moment. I haven’t got myself alone to consider: there’s my sister Sophronia and my brother-in-law and all their circle. They have a great horror of anything that is at all⁠—at all⁠—well⁠— Bohun Out with it. Fast? Loud? Gay? Crampton Not in any unprincipled sense of course; but⁠—but⁠—blurting it out desperately those two children would shock them. They’re not fit to mix with their own people. That’s what I complain of. Mrs. Clandon With suppressed impatience. Mr. Valentine: do you think there is anything fast or loud about Phil and Dolly? Valentine Certainly not. It’s utter bosh. Nothing can be in better taste. Crampton Oh, yes: of course you say so. Mrs. Clandon William: you see a great deal of good English society. Are my children overdressed? Waiter Reassuringly. Oh, dear, no, ma’am. Persuasively. Oh, no, sir, not at all. A little pretty and tasty no doubt; but very choice and classy⁠—very genteel and high toned indeed. Might be the son and daughter of a Dean, sir, I assure you, sir. You have only to look at them, sir, to⁠—At this moment a harlequin and columbine, dancing to the music of the band in the garden, which has just reached the coda of a waltz, whirl one another into the room. The harlequin’s dress is made of lozenges, an inch square, of turquoise blue silk and gold alternately. His hat is gilt and his mask turned up. The columbine’s petticoats are the epitome of a harvest field, golden orange and poppy crimson, with a tiny velvet jacket for the poppy stamens. They pass, an exquisite and dazzling apparition, between McComas and Bohun, and then back in a circle to the end of the table, where, as the final chord of the waltz is struck, they make a tableau in the middle of the company, the harlequin down on his left knee, and the columbine standing on his right knee, with her arms curved over her head. Unlike their dancing, which is charmingly graceful, their attitudinizing is hardly a success, and threatens to end in a catastrophe. The Columbine Screaming. Lift me down, somebody: I’m going to fall. Papa: lift me down. Crampton Anxiously running to her and taking her hands. My child! Dolly Jumping down with his help. Thanks: so nice of you. Phil, putting his hat into his belt, sits on the side of the table and pours out some claret cup. Crampton returns to his place on the ottoman in great perplexity. Oh, what fun! Oh, dear. She seats herself with a vault on the front edge of the table, panting. Oh, claret cup! She drinks. Bohun In powerful tones. This is the younger lady, is it? Dolly Slipping down off the table in alarm at his formidable voice and manner. Yes, sir. Please, who are you? Mrs. Clandon This is Mr. Bohun, Dolly, who has very kindly come to help us this evening. Dolly Oh, then he comes as a boon and a blessing⁠— Philip Sh! Crampton Mr. Bohun⁠—McComas: I appeal to you. Is this right? Would you blame my sister’s family for objecting to this? Dolly Flushing ominously. Have you begun again? Crampton Propitiating her. No, no. It’s perhaps natural at your age. Dolly Obstinately. Never mind my age. Is it pretty? Crampton Yes, dear, yes. He sits down in token of submission. Dolly Following him insistently. Do you like it? Crampton My child: how can you expect me to like it or to approve of it? Dolly Determined not to let him off. How can you think it pretty and not like it? McComas Rising, angry and scandalized. Really I must say⁠—Bohun, who has listened to Dolly with the highest approval, is down on him instantly. Bohun No: don’t interrupt, McComas. The young lady’s method is right. To Dolly, with tremendous emphasis. Press your questions, Miss Clandon: press your questions. Dolly Rising. Oh, dear, you are a regular overwhelmer! Do you always go on like this? Bohun Rising. Yes. Don’t you try to put me out of countenance, young lady: you’re too young to do it. He takes McComas’s chair from beside Mrs. Clandon’s and sets it beside his own. Sit down. Dolly, fascinated, obeys; and Bohun sits down again. McComas, robbed of his seat, takes a chair on the other side between the table and the ottoman. Now, Mr. Crampton, the facts are before you⁠—both of them. You think you’d like to have your two youngest children to live with you. Well, you wouldn’t⁠—Crampton tries to protest; but Bohun will not have it on any terms. No, you wouldn’t: you think you would; but I know better than you. You’d want this young lady here to give up dressing like a stage columbine in the evening and like a fashionable columbine in the morning. Well, she won’t⁠—never. She thinks she will; but⁠— Dolly Interrupting him. No I don’t. Resolutely. I’ll never give up dressing prettily. Never. As Gloria said to that man in Madeira, never, never, never while grass grows or water runs. Valentine Rising in the wildest agitation. What! What! Beginning to speak very fast. When did she say that? Who did she say that to? Bohun Throwing himself back with massive, pitying remonstrance. Mr. Valentine⁠— Valentine Pepperily. Don’t you interrupt me, sir: this is something really serious. I insist on knowing who