VIVIE [bitingly] The same feeling, Frank, that brought your father to my mother’s feet.  Is that it?

FRANK [so revolted that he slips off the table for a moment] I very strongly object, Viv, to have my feelings compared to any which the Reverend Samuel is capable of harboring; and I object still more to a comparison of you to your mother. [Resuming his perch] Besides, I don’t believe the story.  I have taxed my father with it, and obtained from him what I consider tantamount to a denial.

VIVIE.  What did he say?

FRANK.  He said he was sure there must be some mistake.

VIVIE.  Do you believe him?

FRANK.  I am prepared to take his word against Crofts’.

VIVIE.  Does it make any difference?  I mean in your imagination or conscience; for of course it makes no real difference.

FRANK [shaking his head] None whatever to me.

VIVIE.  Nor to me.

FRANK [staring] But this is ever so surprising! [He goes back to his chair].  I thought our whole relations were altered in your imagination and conscience, as you put it, the moment those words were out of that brute’s muzzle.

VIVIE.  No:  it was not that.  I didn’t believe him.  I only wish I could.

FRANK.  Eh?

VIVIE.  I think brother and sister would be a very suitable relation for us.

FRANK.  You really mean that?

VIVIE.  Yes.  It’s the only relation I care for, even if we could afford any other.  I mean that.

FRANK [raising his eyebrows like one on whom a new light has dawned, and rising with quite an effusion of chivalrous sentiment] My dear Viv:  why didn’t you say so before?  I am ever so sorry for persecuting you.  I understand, of course.

VIVIE [puzzled] Understand what?

FRANK.  Oh, I’m not a fool in the ordinary sense:  only in the Scriptural sense of doing all the things the wise man declared to be folly, after trying them himself on the most extensive scale.  I see I am no longer Vivvums’s little boy.  Don’t be alarmed:  I shall never call you Vivvums again—­at least unless you get tired of your new little boy, whoever he may be.

VIVIE.  My new little boy!

FRANK [with conviction] Must be a new little boy.  Always happens that way.  No other way, in fact.

VIVIE.  None that you know of, fortunately for you.

[Someone knocks at the door.]

FRANK.  My curse upon yon caller, whoe’er he be!

VIVIE.  It’s Praed.  He’s going to Italy and wants to say goodbye.  I asked him to call this afternoon.  Go and let him in.

FRANK.  We can continue our conversation after his departure for Italy.  I’ll stay him out. [He goes to the door and opens it].  How are you, Praddy?  Delighted to see you.  Come in.

[Praed, dressed for travelling, comes in, in high spirits.]

PRAED. How do you do, Miss Warren? [She presses his hand cordially, though a certain sentimentality in his high spirits jars upon her].  I start in an hour from Holborn Viaduct.  I wish I could persuade you to try Italy.