ETHEL

You see this is the sort of thing one hears
And don’t believe, until one sees the spot. 
We left New York in snow up to its ears;
And now a Paradise! the palm, the rose,
The Boaganvillia, and the breath of summer.

RALPH

I tell you, Honolulu is a hummer. 
It pays for six long days upon the ocean —
And those sad memories of a ship’s queer motion

ETHEL

There’s one thing, though, that’s disappointed me, —
The much exploited Honolulu maid. 
I haven’t seen a beauty in the town.

RALPH

They’re thick as ripe bananas on a tree. 
You have not been observing, I’m afraid.

Ethel (shrugging her shoulders)

Oh well, tastes differ; I don’t care for brown,
At least for this pronounced Hawaiian shade;
I really can’t imagine how a man
Could love a girl dyed to a chronic tan.

RALPH

Some one has said, ‘Love goes where it is sent.’

Ethel (sadly)

I think that true; one can not guide its bent. 
But I must go; and will you come along? 
Your mother said to bring you.

RALPH

Not quite yet;
I’ll wait until that bird completes its song;
The last I’ll hear, till many a sun has set. 
Just tell the folks I’ll meet them on the pier.

[Exit Ethel, looking disappointed.

Ralph (sitting down in a reverie)

A nice girl, Ethel; but, by Jove, it’s queer
The way a fellow’s stubborn mind will turn
To something that he should forget.  That face —
I saw once on a San Francisco street,
How well I do recall the time and place. 
‘A girl from Honolulu,’ some one said. 
I wonder where she is now!  Married?  Dead?

[A silent reverie for a moment.  Then speaks again.]

I planned this trip with just one crazy thought —
To look upon that strange girl’s face once more. 
That is the luny project which has brought
The four of us to this idyllic shore.

[Laughs and lights a cigar.]

My scheme was worked with such consummate care
That mother thinks she planned the whole affair. 
Then she invited Ethel as her guest.

[Silence for a moment.]

Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best
For wayward sons.

And yet, and yet, and yet,
Why is it one girl’s face I can’t forget? 
Why is it that I feel despondent hearted
In missing that fool hope for which I started? 
Four thousand miles is something of a chase
To run to cover one elusive face
And then to fail.