Gillespie : Then why do you play with men?
Rosalind : (Leaning forward confidentially ) For that first moment, when he’s interested. There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.
Gillespie : And then?
Rosalind : Then after that you make him talk about himself. Pretty soon he thinks of nothing but being alone with you—he sulks, he won’t fight, he doesn’t want to play—Victory!
(Enter Dawson Ryder , twenty-six, handsome, wealthy, faithful to his own, a bore perhaps, but steady and sure of success. )
Ryder : I believe this is my dance, Rosalind.
Rosalind : Well, Dawson, so you recognize me. Now I know I haven’t got too much paint on. Mr. Ryder, this is Mr. Gillespie.
(They shake hands and Gillespie leaves, tremendously downcast. )
Ryder : Your party is certainly a success.
Rosalind : Is it—I haven’t seen it lately. I’m weary—Do you mind sitting out a minute?
Ryder : Mind—I’m delighted. You know I loathe this “rushing” idea. See a girl yesterday, to-day, to-morrow.
Rosalind : Dawson!
Ryder : What?
Rosalind : I wonder if you know you love me.
Ryder : (Startled ) What—Oh—you know you’re remarkable!
Rosalind : Because you know I’m an awful proposition. Any one who marries me will have his hands full. I’m mean—mighty mean.
Ryder : Oh, I wouldn’t say that.
Rosalind : Oh, yes, I am—especially to the people nearest to me. (She rises. ) Come, let’s go. I’ve changed my mind and I want to dance. Mother is probably having a fit.
(Exeunt. Enter Alec and Cecelia .)
Cecelia : Just my luck to get my own brother for an intermission.
Alec : (Gloomily ) I’ll go if you want me to.
Cecelia : Good heavens, no—with whom would I begin the next dance? (Sighs. ) There’s no color in a dance since the French officers went back.
Alec : (Thoughtfully ) I don’t want Amory to fall in love with Rosalind.
Cecelia : Why, I had an idea that that was just what you did want.
Alec : I did, but since seeing these girls—I don’t know. I’m awfully attached to Amory. He’s sensitive and I don’t want him to break his heart over somebody who doesn’t care about him.
Cecelia : He’s very good looking.
Alec : (Still thoughtfully ) She won’t marry him, but a girl doesn’t have to marry a man to break his heart.
Cecelia : What does it? I wish I knew the secret.
Alec : Why, you cold-blooded little kitty. It’s lucky for some that the Lord gave you a pug nose.
(Enter Mrs. Connage .)
Mrs. Connage : Where on earth is Rosalind?
Alec : (Brilliantly ) Of course you’ve come to the best people to find out. She’d naturally be with us.
Mrs. Connage : Her father has marshalled eight bachelor millionaires to meet her.
Alec : You might form a squad and march through the halls.
Mrs. Connage : I’m perfectly serious—for all I know she may be at the Cocoanut Grove with some football player on the night of her début. You look left and I’ll——
Alec : (Flippantly ) Hadn’t you better send the butler through the cellar?
Mrs. Connage : (Perfectly serious ) Oh, you don’t think she’d be there?
Cecelia : He’s only joking, mother.
Alec : Mother had a picture of her tapping a keg of beer with some high hurdler.
Mrs. Connage : Let’s look right away.
(They go out. Rosalind comes in with Gillespie .)
Gillespie : Rosalind—Once more I ask you. Don’t you care a blessed thing about me?
(Amory walks in briskly. )
Amory : My dance.
Rosalind : Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.
Gillespie : I’ve met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren’t you?
Amory : Yes.
Gillespie : (Desperately ) I’ve been there. It’s in the—the Middle West, isn’t it?
Amory : (Spicily ) Approximately. But I always felt that I’d rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.
Gillespie : What!
Amory : Oh, no offense.
(Gillespie bows and leaves. )
Rosalind : He’s too much people.
Amory : I was in love with a people once.
Rosalind : So?
Amory : Oh, yes—her name was Isabelle—nothing at all to her except what I read into her.
Rosalind : What happened?
Amory : Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was—then she threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.
Rosalind : What do you mean impractical?
Amory : Oh—drive a car, but can’t change a tire.
Rosalind : What are you going to do?
Amory : Can’t say—run for President, write——
Rosalind : Greenwich Village?
Amory : Good heavens, no—I said write—not drink.
Rosalind : I like business men. Clever men are usually so homely.
Amory : I feel as if I’d known you for ages.
Rosalind : Oh, are you going to commence the “pyramid” story?
Amory : No—I was going to make it French. I was Louis XIV and you were one of my—my—(Changing his tone. ) Suppose—we fell in love.
Rosalind : I’ve suggested pretending.
Amory : If we did it would be very big.
Rosalind : Why?
Amory : Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.
Rosalind : (Turning her lips up ) Pretend.
(Very deliberately they kiss. )
Amory : I can’t say sweet things. But you are beautiful.
Rosalind : Not that.
Amory : What then?
Rosalind : (Sadly ) Oh, nothing—only I want sentiment, real sentiment—and I never find it.
Amory : I never find anything else in the world—and I loathe it.
Rosalind : It’s so hard to find a male to gratify one’s artistic taste.
(Some one has opened a door and the music of a waltz surges into the room. Rosalind rises. )
Rosalind : Listen! they’re playing “Kiss Me Again.”
(He looks at her. )
Amory : Well?
Rosalind : Well?
Amory : (Softly—the battle lost ) I love you.