The corner of a den downstairs, filled by a very comfortable leather lounge. A small light is on each side above, and in the middle, over the couch hangs a painting of a very old, very dignified gentleman, period 1860. Outside the music is heard in a foxtrot.
Rosalind is seated on the lounge and on her left is Howard Gillespie, a vapid youth of about twenty-four. He is obviously very unhappy, and she is quite bored.
Gillespie
Feebly. What do you mean I’ve changed. I feel the same toward you.
Rosalind
But you don’t look the same to me.
Gillespie
Three weeks ago you used to say that you liked me because I was so blasé, so indifferent—I still am.
Rosalind
But not about me. I used to like you because you had brown eyes and thin legs.
Gillespie
Helplessly. They’re still thin and brown. You’re a vampire, that’s all.
Rosalind
The only thing I know about vamping is what’s on the piano score. What confuses men is that I’m perfectly natural. I used to think you were never jealous. Now you follow me with your eyes wherever I go.
Gillespie
I love you.
Rosalind
Coldly. I know it.
Gillespie
And you haven’t kissed me for two weeks. I had an idea that after a girl was kissed she was—was—won.
Rosalind
Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every time you see me.
Gillespie
Are you serious?
Rosalind
About as usual. There used to be two kinds of kisses: First when girls were kissed and deserted; second, when they were engaged. Now there’s a third kind, where the man is kissed and deserted. If Mr. Jones of the nineties bragged he’d kissed a girl, everyone knew he was through with her. If Mr. Jones of 1919 brags the same everyone knows it’s because he can’t kiss her any more. Given a decent start any girl can beat a man nowadays.
Gillespie
Then why do you play with men?
Rosalind
Leaning forward confidentially. For that first moment, when he’s interested. There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.
Gillespie
And then?
Rosalind
Then after that you make him talk about himself. Pretty soon he thinks of nothing but being alone with you—he sulks, he won’t fight, he doesn’t want to play—Victory!
Enter Dawson Ryder, twenty-six, handsome, wealthy, faithful to his own, a bore perhaps, but steady and sure of success.
Ryder
I believe this is my dance, Rosalind.
Rosalind
Well, Dawson, so you recognize me. Now I know I haven’t got too much paint on. Mr. Ryder, this is Mr. Gillespie.
They shake hands and Gillespie leaves, tremendously downcast.
Ryder
Your party is certainly a success.
Rosalind
Is it—I haven’t seen it lately. I’m weary—Do you mind sitting out a minute?
Ryder
Mind—I’m delighted. You know I loathe this “rushing” idea. See a girl yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Rosalind
Dawson!
Ryder
What?
Rosalind
I wonder if you know you love me.
Ryder
Startled. What—Oh—you know you’re remarkable!
Rosalind
Because you know I’m an awful proposition. Anyone who marries me will have his hands full. I’m mean—mighty mean.
Ryder
Oh, I wouldn’t say that.
Rosalind
Oh, yes, I am—especially to the people nearest to me. She rises. Come, let’s go. I’ve changed my mind and I want to dance. Mother is probably having a fit.
Exeunt. Enter Alec and Cecelia.
Cecelia
Just my luck to get my own brother for an intermission.
Alec
Gloomily. I’ll go if you want me to.
Cecelia
Good heavens, no—with whom would I begin the next dance? Sighs. There’s no color in a dance since the French officers went back.
Alec
Thoughtfully. I don’t want Amory to fall in love with Rosalind.
Cecelia
Why, I had an idea that that was just what you did want.
Alec
I did, but since seeing these girls—I don’t know. I’m awfully attached to Amory. He’s sensitive and I don’t want him to break his heart over somebody who doesn’t care about him.
Cecelia
He’s very good looking.
Alec
Still thoughtfully. She won’t marry him, but a girl doesn’t have to marry a man to break his heart.
Cecelia
What does it? I wish I knew the secret.
Alec
Why, you cold-blooded little kitty. It’s lucky for some that the Lord gave you a pug nose.
Enter Mrs. Connage.
Mrs. Connage
Where on earth is Rosalind?
Alec
Brilliantly. Of course you’ve come to the best people to find out. She’d naturally be with us.
Mrs. Connage
Her father has marshalled eight bachelor millionaires to meet her.
Alec
You might form a squad and march through the halls.
Mrs. Connage
I’m perfectly serious—for all I know she may be at the Coconut Grove with some football player on the night of her début. You look left and I’ll—
Alec
Flippantly. Hadn’t you better send the butler through the cellar?
Mrs. Connage
Perfectly serious. Oh, you don’t think she’d be there?
Cecelia
He’s only joking, mother.
Alec
Mother had a picture of her tapping a keg of beer with some high hurdler.
Mrs. Connage
Let’s look right away.
They go out. Rosalind comes in with Gillespie.
Gillespie
Rosalind—Once more I ask you. Don’t you care a blessed thing about me?
Amory walks in briskly.
Amory
My dance.
Rosalind
Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.
Gillespie
I’ve met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren’t you?
Amory
Yes.
Gillespie
Desperately. I’ve been there. It’s in the—the Middle West, isn’t it?
Amory
Spicily. Approximately. But I always felt that I’d rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.
Gillespie
What!
Amory
Oh, no offense.
Gillespie bows and leaves.
Rosalind
He’s too much people.
Amory
I was in love with a people once.
Rosalind
So?
Amory
Oh, yes—her name was Isabelle—nothing at all to her except what I read into her.
Rosalind
What happened?
Amory
Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was—then she threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.
Rosalind
What do you mean impractical?
Amory
Oh—drive a car, but can’t change a tire.
Rosalind
What are you going to do?
Amory
Can’t say—run for President, write—
Rosalind
Greenwich Village?
Amory
Good heavens, no—I said write—not drink.
Rosalind
I like businessmen. Clever men are usually so homely.
Amory
I feel as if I’d known you for ages.
Rosalind
Oh, are you going to commence the “pyramid” story?
Amory
No—I was going to make it French. I was Louis XIV and you were one of my—my—Changing his tone. Suppose—we fell in love.
Rosalind
I’ve suggested pretending.
Amory
If we did it would be very big.
Rosalind
Why?
Amory
Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.
Rosalind
Turning her lips up. Pretend.
Very deliberately they kiss.
Amory
I can’t say sweet things. But you are beautiful.
Rosalind
Not that.
Amory
What then?
Rosalind
Sadly. Oh, nothing—only I want sentiment, real sentiment—and I never find it.
Amory
I never find anything else in the world—and I loathe it.
Rosalind
It’s so hard to find a male to gratify one’s artistic taste.
Someone has opened a door and the music of a waltz surges into the room. Rosalind rises.
Rosalind
Listen! they’re playing “Kiss Me Again.”
He looks at her.
Amory
Well?
Rosalind
Well?
Amory
Softly—the battle lost. I love you.
Rosalind
I love you—now.
They kiss.
Amory
Oh, God, what have I done?
Rosalind
Nothing. Oh, don’t talk. Kiss me again.
Amory
I don’t know why or how, but I love you—from the moment I saw you.
Rosalind
Me too—I—I—oh, tonight’s tonight.
Her brother strolls in, starts and then in a loud voice says: “Oh, excuse me,” and goes.
Rosalind
Her lips scarcely stirring. Don’t let me go—I don’t care who knows what I do.
Amory
Say it!
Rosalind
I love you—now. They part. Oh—I am very youthful, thank God—and rather beautiful, thank God—and happy, thank God, thank God—She pauses and then, in an odd burst of prophecy, adds. Poor Amory!
He kisses her again.