ittle story which mother has
just told us, and compare it with any of the love-stories of history.
Isn't it pitiful, Jane, that people should be satisfied now with so
little?

JANE. Yes, darling, very, very sad, but I don't think Aunt Mary--

MELISANDE. I am not blaming Mother. It is the same almost everywhere
nowadays. There is no romance left.

JANE. No, darling. Of course, I am not romantic like you, but I do
agree with you. It is very sad. Somehow there is no--(she searches for
the right word)--no _romance_ left.

MELISANDE. Just think of the average marriage. It makes one shudder.

JANE (doing her best). Positively shudder!

MELISANDE. He meets Her at--(she shudders)--a subscription dance, or a
tennis party--(she shudders again) or--at _golf_. He calls upon her
mother--perhaps in a top hat--perhaps (tragically) even in a bowler
hat.

JANE. A bowler hat! One shudders.

MELISANDE. Her mother makes tactful inquiries about his
income--discovers that he is a nice, steady young man--and decides
that he shall marry her daughter. He is asked to come again, he is
invited to parties; it is understood that he is falling in love with
the daughter. The rest of the family are encouraged to leave them
alone together--if the opportunity occurs, Jane. (Contemptuously) But,
of course, only if it occurs.

JANE (awkwardly). Yes, dear.

MELISANDE. One day he proposes to her.

JANE (to herself ecstatically). Oh!

MELISANDE. He stutters out a few unbeautiful words which she takes to
be a proposal. She goes and tells Mother. He goes and tells Father.
They are engaged. They talk about each other as "my fiance." Perhaps
they are engaged for months and months--

JANE. Years and years sometimes, Melisande.

MELISANDE. For years and years--and wherever they go, people make
silly little jokes about them, and cough very loudly if they go into a
room where the two of them are. And then they get married at last, and
everybody comes and watches them get married, and makes more silly
jokes, and they go away for what they call a honeymoon, and they tell
everybody--they shout it out in the newspapers--_where_ they are going
for their honeymoon; and then they come back and start talking about
bread-sauce. Oh, Jane, it's horrible.

JANE. Horrible, darling. (With a French air) But what would you?

MELISANDE (in a low thrilling voice). What would I? Ah, what would I,
Jane?

JANE. Because you see, Sandy--I mean Melisande--you see, da