MAUD. [Growing alarm.] But you won’t have me arrested?

FITZSIMMONS. I certainly will.

MAUD. [Pleadingly.] Please!  Please!

FITZSIMMONS. [Obdurately.] I see no reason why I should not.

MAUD. [Hurriedly, in a panic.] I’ll give you a reason—­a—­a good one. 
I—­I—­am not Harry Jones.

FITZSIMMONS. [Grimly.] A good reason in itself to call in the police.

MAUD.  That isn’t the reason.  I’m—­a—­Oh!  I’m so ashamed.

FITZSIMMONS. [Sternly.] I should say you ought to be. [Reaches for telephone receiver.]

MAUD. [In rush of desperation.] Stop!  I’m a—­I’m a—­a girl.  There! [Sinks down in chair, burying her face in her hands.]

[FITZSIMMONS, hanging up receiver, grunts.]

[MAUD removes hands and looks at him indignantly.  As she speaks her indignation grows.]

MAUD.  I only wanted your cigarette case to prove to my brother that I had been here.  I—­I’m Maud Sylvester, and you never took me out once.  And I’m not a black sheep.  And I don’t dress loudly, and I haven’t a—­a tapeworm.

FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning and pulling out card from vest pocket.] I knew you were Miss Sylvester all the time.

MAUD.  Oh!  You brute!  I’ll never speak to you again.

FITZSIMMONS. [Gently.] You’ll let me see you safely out of here.

MAUD. [Relenting.] Ye-e-s. [She rises, crosses to table, and is about to stoop for motor cloak and bonnet, but he forestall her, holds cloak and helps her into it.] Thank you. [She takes off wig, fluffs her own hair becomingly, and puts on bonnet, looking every inch a pretty young girl, ready for an automobile ride.]

FITZSIMMONS. [Who, all the time, watching her transformation, has been growing bashful, now handing her the cigarette case.] Here’s the cigarette case.  You may k-k-keep it.

MAUD. [Looking at him, hesitates, then takes it.] I thank you—­er—­Bob.  I shall treasure it all my life. [He is very embarrassed.] Why, I do believe you’re bashful.  What is the matter?

FITZSIMMONS. [Stammering.] Why—­I—­you—­You are a girl—­and—­a—­a—­deuced pretty one.

MAUD. [Taking his arm, ready to start for door.] But you knew it all along.

FITZSIMMONS. But it’s somehow different now when you’ve got your girl’s clothes on.

MAUD.  But you weren’t a bit bashful—­or nice, when—­you—­you—­[Blurting it out.] Were so anxious about birth marks.

[They start to make exit.]

CURTAIN