(They stroll off together. Roto takes the empty pail and goes off. Nora and Gordon are left together.)
Gordon.
(Eagerly going, with a possessive air toward Nora.) Oh, it is wonderful to see you again!
Nora.
(Pertly, teasing him and evidently enjoying it.) Women are scarce here, I know, but there’s nothing else wonderful about me.
Gordon.
For me you are the dream of God which stirs the woodland, you are—(noting her unresponsive face). I say, do sit down. You’ll be tired after that ride. Let me take your whip. Take your gloves off. Those little hands must ache after holding the reins for three hours.
Nora.
Pooh! I like having the reins in my own hands.
Gordon.
And so you should, they are such clever little hands.
Nora.
(Yawns affectedly.) Gordon, you’re a romantic goose.
Gordon.
I’m not. Everyone thinks you are wonderful, ask—
Nora.
Robert doesn’t think I’m at all wonderful.
Gordon.
Of course he does.
Nora.
Then why doesn’t he tell me?
Gordon.
He—he’s shy. But besides, though all men may think such things about a girl, they only say them when they love her.
Nora.
(Quizzically.) So you love me?
Gordon.
(Tenderly.) Is it a hundred or a hundred and one times I have told you so?
Nora.
And what have I answered a hundred or a hundred and one times?
Gordon.
You have never once said no!
Nora.
I didn’t ask you what I didn’t say, but what I did say. And what did I say?
Gordon.
(Persuasively.) Say something different this time. You can’t always be cruel, with that sweet face you have.
Nora.
Oh, can’t I?
Gordon.
Don’t be, then.
Nora.
Besides I’m not cruel. You love me. That is very nice for you. Being in love is nice. Isn’t it?
Gordon.
Being in love with you would make the world a heaven if only you were kind!
Nora.
I am kind—to myself. Being not in love with you is much kinder to myself than what you ask. You want me to be happy, don’t you?
Gordon.
Of course! I’d die to make you happy!
Nora.
I don’t ask that. I only ask you not to talk of love.
Gordon.
How can I not talk of it when I love you?
Nora.
(Turning away.) Well, if you are willing to die for me, why not stop loving me?
Gordon.
No man could.
Nora.
(Flattered.) ’Um. Perhaps. But a man could stop talking about it. Talk of something else—anything interesting. What is Robert doing away so long?
Gordon.
(Checking his tenderness with an effort, speaking in off-hand tones.) Shewing Miss Loveday the sheep. I say, she’s handsome.
Nora.
Oh? I don’t think so. But you will be soon making love to her I see. I needn’t have worried about your worrying me for long.
Gordon.
Don’t say that, Nora. You know you are every beautiful thing to me. I hear your sweet voice every time the bell bird calls. I see your hair in the golden clouds after the sunset; I think of you and the home nest you are making somewhere, particularly when I am out here sleeping out of doors. You know I never shall think there is anyone in the world like you.
Nora.
(Peremptorily.) Stop! Where are Robert and Loveday? Call them, Gordon.
(Gordon coo-ees. An answer is heard.)
Gordon.
(With a little gust of temper.) You try to prevent us being alone. You grudge me these few minutes. It is cruel.
Nora.
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