ike me,
everybody is the first. Life renews itself.

LINA. The youngest child is the sweetest.

TARLETON. Dont probe too deep, Lina. It hurts.

LINA. You must get out of the habit of thinking that these things
matter so much. It's linendraperish.

TARLETON. Youre quite right. Ive often said so. All the same, it
does matter; for I want to cry. _[He buries his face in his arms on
the work-table and sobs]._

LINA. _[going to him]_ O la la! _[She slaps him vigorously, but not
unkindly, on the shoulder]._ Courage, old pal, courage! Have you a
gymnasium here?

TARLETON. Theres a trapeze and bars and things in the billiard room.

LINA. Come. You need a few exercises. I'll teach you how to stop
crying. _[She takes his arm and leads him off into the vestibule]._

_A young man, cheaply dressed and strange in manner, appears in the
garden; steals to the pavilion door; and looks in. Seeing that there
is nobody, he enters cautiously until he has come far enough to see
into the hatstand corner. He draws a revolver, and examines it,
apparently to make sure that it is loaded. Then his attention is
caught by the Turkish bath. He looks down the lunette, and opens the
panels._

HYPATIA. _[calling in the garden]_ Mr Percival! Mr Percival! Where
are you?

_The young man makes for the door, but sees Percival coming. He turns
and bolts into the Turkish bath, which he closes upon himself just in
time to escape being caught by Percival, who runs in through the
pavilion, bareheaded. He also, it appears, is in search of a
hiding-place; for he stops and turns between the two tables to take a
survey of the room; then runs into the corner between the end of the
sideboard and the wall. Hypatia, excited, mischievous, her eyes
glowing, runs in, precisely on his trail; turns at the same spot; and
discovers him just as he makes a dash for the pavilion door. She
flies back and intercepts him._

HYPATIA. Aha! arnt you glad Ive caught you?

PERCIVAL. _[illhumoredly turning away from her and coming towards the
writing table]_ No I'm not. Confound it, what sort of girl are you?
What sort of house is this? Must I throw all good manners to the
winds?

HYPATIA. _[following him]_ Do, do, do, do, do. This is the house of
a respectable shopkeeper, enormously rich. This is the respectable
shopkeeper's daughter, tired of good manners. _[Slipping her left
hand into his right]_ Come, handsome young man, and p