rovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing
to do with this.

ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it.

TREHERNE. But does she return your affection.

ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of
her, but I think I have touched her heart.

TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you
know, Catherine won't look at me.

ERNEST. I'm sorry, John.

TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my
heartiest good wishes, Ernest.

ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day?

TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again.

(After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.)

ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny?

TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if
you want me, Ernest--

ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare
me a moment.

TWEENY. Willingly. What is it?

ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny.

TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones.

ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now.
But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew
you I never knew any woman.

TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an
epigram). Take care--the bucket.

ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously
on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I
want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done
more for me than any bucket could do.

TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny?

ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house
for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make
chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for
you.

TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.)
Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest?

ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your
adoring husband.

TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest.

ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there.

TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry.

ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away
altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from
breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true