John [forlorn].  If you knew how I’ve tried.

Maggie [cautiously].  Maybe if you were to try again; and I’ll just come and sit beside you, and knit.  I think the click of the needles sometimes put you in the mood.

John.  Hardly that; and yet many a Shandism have I knocked off while you were sitting beside me knitting.  I suppose it was the quietness.

Maggie.  Very likely.

John [with another inspiration].  Maggie!

Maggie [again].  What is it, John?

John.  What if it was you that put those queer ideas into my head!

Maggie.  Me?

John.  Without your knowing it, I mean.

Maggie.  But how?

John.  We used to talk bits over; and it may be that you dropped the seed, so to speak.

Maggie.  John, could it be this, that I sometimes had the idea in a rough womanish sort of way and then you polished it up till it came out a Shandism?

John [slowly slapping his knee].  I believe you’ve hit it, Maggie:  to think that you may have been helping me all the time—­and neither of us knew it!

[He has so nearly reached a smile that no one can say what might have happened within the next moment if the Comtesse had not reappeared.]

Comtesse.  Mr. Venables wishes to see you, Mr. Shand.

John [lost, stolen, or strayed a smile in the making].  Hum!

Comtesse.  He is coming now.

John [grumpy].  Indeed!

Comtesse [sweetly].  It is about your speech.

John.  He has said all he need say on that subject, and more.

Comtesse [quaking a little].  I think it is about the second speech.

John.  What second speech?

[Maggie runs to her bag and opens it.]

Maggie [horrified].  Comtesse, you have given it to him!

Comtesse [impudently].  Wasn’t I meant to?

John.  What is it?  What second speech?

Maggie.  Cruel, cruel. [Willing to go on her knees] You had left the first draft of your speech at home, John, and I brought it here with—­ with a few little things I’ve added myself.

John [a seven-footer].  What’s that?

Maggie [four foot ten at most].  Just trifles—­things I was to suggest to you—­while I was knitting—­and then, if you liked any of them you could have polished them—­and turned them into something good.  John, John—­and now she has shown it to Mr. Venables.

John [thundering].  As my work, Comtesse?

[But the Comtesse is not of the women who are afraid of thunder.]

Maggie.  It is your work—­nine-tenths of it.

John [in the black cap].  You presumed, Maggie Shand!  Very well, then, here he comes, and now we’ll see to what extent you’ve helped me.