BOBBY.  But, you know, I’m not really worthy of her.

JUGGINS.  Probably she never supposed you were, sir.

BOBBY.  Oh, I say, Juggins, you are a pessimist.

JUGGINS. [preparing to go] Anything else, sir?

BOBBY. [querulously] You havnt been much use. [He wanders disconsolately across the room].  You generally put me up to the correct way of doing things.

JUGGINS.  I assure you, sir, theres no correct way of jilting.  It’s not correct in itself.

BOBBY. [hopefully] I’ll tell you what.  I’ll say I cant hold her to an engagement with a man whos been in quod.  Thatll do it. [He seats himself on the table, relieved and confident].

JUGGINS.  Very dangerous, sir.  No woman will deny herself the romantic luxury of self-sacrifice and forgiveness when they take the form of doing something agreeable.  Shes almost sure to say that your misfortune will draw her closer to you.

BOBBY.  What a nuisance!  I dont know what to do.  You know, Juggins, your cool simple-minded way of doing it wouldnt go down in Denmark Hill.

JUGGINS.  I daresay not, sir.  No doubt youd prefer to make it look like an act of self-sacrifice for her sake on your part, or provoke her to break the engagement herself.  Both plans have been tried repeatedly, but never with success, as far as my knowledge goes.

BOBBY.  You have a devilish cool way of laying down the law.  You know, in my class you have to wrap up things a bit.  Denmark Hill isn’t Camberwell, you know.

JUGGINS.  I have noticed, sir, that Denmark Hill thinks that the higher you go in the social scale, the less sincerity is allowed; and that only tramps and riff-raff are quite sincere.  Thats a mistake.  Tramps are often shameless; but theyre never sincere.  Swells—­if I may use that convenient name for the upper classes—­play much more with their cards on the table.  If you tell the young lady that you want to jilt her, and she calls you a pig, the tone of the transaction may leave much to be desired; but itll be less Camberwellian than if you say youre not worthy.

BOBBY.  Oh, I cant make you understand, Juggins.  The girl isnt a scullery-maid.  I want to do it delicately.

JUGGINS.  A mistake, sir, believe me, if you are not a born artist in that line.—­Beg pardon, sir, I think I heard the bell. [He goes out].

Bobby, much perplexed, shoves his hands into his pockets, and comes off the table, staring disconsolately straight before him; then goes reluctantly to his books, and sits down to write.  Juggins returns.

JUGGINS. [announcing] Miss Knox.

Margaret comes in.  Juggins withdraws.

MARGARET.  Still grinding away for that Society of Arts examination,
Bobby?  Youll never pass.

BOBBY. [rising] No:  I was just writing to you.

MARGARET.  What about?