[smiles his reward]. I'll explain it all right. [Loudly.] Come in! [Enter Gerald O'Mara.]
Gerald. So you are in! [Hastens across room to shake hands.]
Rosamund. Oh, yes, I am in. Gerald, how are you? I must say you look tolerably well. [They sit down.]
Gerald. Oh, I'm pretty fit, thanks. Had the most amazing time in spite of the climate. And you? Rosie, you haven't changed a little bit. How's the cookery trade getting along? Are you still showing people how to concoct French dinners out of old bones and a sardine tin?
Rosamund. Certainly. Only I can do it without the bones now. You see, the science has progressed while you've been stagnating in Cyprus.
Gerald. Stagnating is the word. You wouldn't believe that climate!
Rosamund. What! Not had nice weather? What a shame! I thought it was tremendously sunshiny in Cyprus.
Gerald. Yes, that's just what it is, 97° in the shade when it doesn't happen to be pouring with malarial rain. We started a little golf club at Nicosia, and laid out a nine-hole course. But the balls used to melt. So we had to alter the rules, keep the balls in an ice-box, and take a fresh one at every hole. Think of that!
Rosamund. My poor boy! But I suppose there were compensations? You referred to "an amazing time."
Gerald. Yes, there were compensations. And that reminds me, I want you to come out and lunch with me at the Savoy. I've got something awfully important to ask you. In fact, that's what I've come for.
Rosamund. Sorry I can't, Gerald. The fact is, I've got something awfully important myself just about lunch time.
Gerald. Oh, yours can wait. Look here, I've ordered the lunch. I made sure you'd come. [Rosamund shakes her head.] Why can't you? It's not cooking, is it?
Rosamund. Only a goose.
Gerald. What goose?
Rosamund. Well—my own, and somebody else's. Listen, Gerald. Had you not better ask me this awfully important question now? No time like the present.
Gerald. I can always talk easier, especially on delicate topics, with a pint of something handy. But if you positively won't come, I'll get it off my chest now. The fact is, Rosie, I'm in love.
Rosamund. With whom?
Gerald. Ah! That's just what I want you to tell me.
Rosamund [suddenly starting]. Gerald! what is that dreadful thing sticking out of your pocket, and pointing right at me?
Gerald. That? That's my revolver. Always carry them in Cyprus, you know. Plenty of sport there.
Rosamund [breathing again]. Kindly take it out of your pocket and put it on the table. Then if it does go off it will go off into something less valuable than a cookery-lecturer.
Gerald [laughingly obeying her]. There. If anything happens it will happen to the screen. Now, Rosie, I'm in love, and I desire that you should tell me whom I'm in love with. There's a magnificent girl in Cyprus, daughter of the Superintendent of Police—
Rosamund. Name?
Gerald. Evelyn. Age nineteen. I tell you I was absolutely gone on her.
Rosamund. Symptoms?
Gerald. Well—er—whenever her name was mentioned I blushed terrifically. Of course, that was only one symptom.... Then I met a girl on the home steamer—no father or mother. An orphan, you know, awfully interesting.
Rosamund. Name?
Gerald. Madge. Nice name, isn't it? [Rosamund nods.] I don't mind telling you, I was considerably struck by her—still am, in fact.
Rosamund. Symptoms?
Gerald. Oh!... Let me see, I never think of her without turning absolutely pale. I suppose it's what they call "pale with passion." Notice it?
Rosamund [somewhat coldly]. It seems to me the situation amounts to this. There are two girls. One is named Evelyn, and the thought of her makes you blush. The other is named Madge, and the thought of her makes you turn pale. You fancy yourself in love, and you wish me to decide for you whether it is Madge or Evelyn who agitates your breast the more deeply.
Gerald. That's not exactly the way to put it, Rosie. You take a fellow up too soon. Of course I must tell you lots more yet. You should hear Evelyn play the "Moonlight Sonata." It's the most marvelous thing.... And then Madge's eyes! The way that girl can look at a fellow.... I'm telling you all these things, you know, Rosie, because I've always looked up to you as an elder sister.
Rosamund [after a pause, during which she gazes into his face]. I suppose it was in my character of your elder sister, that you put a certain question to me four years ago last night?
Gerald [staggered; pulls himself together for a great resolve; after a long pause]. Rosie! I never thought afterwards you'd take it seriously. I forgot it all. I was only a boy then. [Speaking quicker and quicker.] But I see clearly now. I never could withstand you. It's all rot about Evelyn and Madge. It's you I'm in love with; and I never guessed it! Rosie!... [Rushes to her and impetuously flings his arms around her neck.]
James [who, during the foregoing scene, has been full of uneasy gestures; leaping with incredible swiftness from the shelter of the screen]. Sir!
Rosamund [pushing Gerald quickly away]. Gerald!
James. May I inquire, sir, what is the precise significance of this attitudinising? [Gerald has scarcely yet abandoned his amorous pose, but now does so quickly]. Are we in the middle of a scene from "Romeo and Juliet," or is this 9:30 A. M. in the nineteenth century? If Miss Fife had played the "Moonlight Sonata" to you, or looked at you as Madge does, there might perhaps have been some shadow of an excuse for your extraordinary and infamous conduct. But since she has performed neither of these feats of skill, I fail to grasp—I say I fail to grasp—er—
Gerald [slowly recovering from an amazement which has rendered him mute]. Rosie, a man concealed in your apartment! But perhaps it is the piano-tuner. I am willing to believe the best.
Rosamund. Let me introduce Mr. James Brett, my future husband. Jim, this is Gerald.
James. I have gathered as much. [The men bow stiffly.]
Rosamund [dreamily]. Poor, poor Gerald! [Her tone is full of feeling. James is evidently deeply affected by it. He walks calmly and steadily to the table and picks up the revolver.]
Gerald. Sir, that tool is mine.
James. Sir, the fact remains that it is an engine of destruction, and that I intend to use it. Rosamund, the tone in which you uttered those three words, "Poor, poor Gerald!" convinces me, a keen observer of symptoms, that I no longer possess your love. Without your love, life to me is meaningless. I object to anything meaningless—even a word. I shall therefore venture to deprive myself of life. Good-by! [To Gerald.] Sir, I may see you later. [Raises the revolver to his temples.]
Rosamund
