VAUGHAN.  Well, I dont see that.

THE COUNT.  You dont see it! dont feel it! [To Gunn] Sir:  I appeal to you.

GUNN. [with studied weariness] It seems to me the most ordinary sort of old-fashioned Ibsenite drivel.

THE COUNT [turning to Trotter, who is on his right, between him and Bannal] Mr Trotter:  will you tell me that you are not amazed, outraged, revolted, wounded in your deepest and holiest feelings by every word of this play, every tone, every implication; that you did not sit there shrinking in every fibre at the thought of what might come next?

TROTTER.  Not a bit.  Any clever modern girl could turn out that kind of thing by the yard.

THE COUNT.  Then, sir, tomorrow I start for Venice, never to return.  I must believe what you tell me.  I perceive that you are not agitated, not surprised, not concerned; that my own horror (yes, gentlemen, horror—­horror of the very soul) appears unaccountable to you, ludicrous, absurd, even to you, Mr Trotter, who are little younger than myself.  Sir:  if young people spoke to me like that, I should die of shame:  I could not face it.  I must go back.  The world has passed me by and left me.  Accept the apologies of an elderly and no doubt ridiculous admirer of the art of a bygone day, when there was still some beauty in the world and some delicate grace in family life.  But I promised my daughter your opinion; and I must keep my word.  Gentlemen:  you are the choice and master spirits of this age:  you walk through it without bewilderment and face its strange products without dismay.  Pray deliver your verdict.  Mr Bannal:  you know that it is the custom at a Court Martial for the youngest officer present to deliver his judgment first; so that he may not be influenced by the authority of his elders.  You are the youngest.  What is your opinion of the play?

BANNAL.  Well, whos it by?

THE COUNT.  That is a secret for the present.

BANNAL.  You dont expect me to know what to say about a play when I dont know who the author is, do you?

THE COUNT.  Why not?

BANNAL.  Why not!  Why not!!  Suppose you had to write about a play by Pinero and one by Jones!  Would you say exactly the same thing about them?

THE COUNT.  I presume not.

BANNAL.  Then how could you write about them until you knew which was Pinero and which was Jones?  Besides, what sort of play is this? thats what I want to know.  Is it a comedy or a tragedy?  Is it a farce or a melodrama?  Is it repertory theatre tosh, or really straight paying stuff?

GUNN.  Cant you tell from seeing it?

BANNAL.  I can see it all right enough; but how am I to know how to take it?  Is it serious, or is it spoof?  If the author knows what his play is, let him tell us what it is.  If he doesnt, he cant complain if I dont know either. I’m not the author.