ns--et puis--et puis des maisons encore--ou est bonne maman?

[Exit little LEONORE down an alley.

Ethel. Do you remember when we were children, and you used to make
drawings for us? I have some now that you did--in my geography book,
which I used to read and read with Miss Quigley.

Clive. I remember all about our youth, Ethel.

Ethel. Tell me what you remember?

Clive. I remember one of the days, when I first saw you, I had been
reading the Arabian Nights at school--and you came in in a bright
dress of shot silk, amber, and blue--and I thought you were like that
fairy-princess who came out of the crystal box--because----

Ethel. Because why?

Clive. Because I always thought that fairy somehow must be the most
beautiful creature in all the world--that is "why and because." Do not
make me Mayfair curtsies. You know whether you are good-looking or not:
and how long I have thought you so. I remember when I thought I would
like to be Ethel's knight, and that if there was anything she would have
me do, I would try and achieve it in order to please her. I remember
when I was so ignorant I did not know there was any difference in rank
between us.

Ethel. Ah, Clive!

Clive. Now it is altered. Now I know the difference between a poor
painter and a young lady of the world. Why haven't I a title and a great
fortune? Why did I ever see you, Ethel; or, knowing the distance which
it seems fate has placed between us, why have I seen you again?

Ethel (innocently). Have I ever made any difference between us? Whenever
I may see you, am I not too glad? Don't I see you sometimes when I
should not--no--I do not say when I should not; but when others, whom
I am bound to obey, forbid me? What harm is there in my remembering old
days? Why should I be ashamed of our relationship?--no, not ashamed--shy
should I forget it? Don't do that, sir; we have shaken hands twice
already. Leonore! Xavier!

Clive. At one moment you like me: and at the next you seem to repent it.
One day you seem happy when I come; and another day you are ashamed of
me. Last Tuesday, when you came with those fine ladies to the Louvre,
you seemed to blush when you saw me copying at my picture; and that
stupid young lord looked quite alarmed because you spoke to me. My lot
in life is not very brilliant; but I would not change it against that
young man's--no, not with all his chances.

Ethel. What do you mean with all his chances?

Cl