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           Youdon’tsmoke?Whatapity!Thekingdoesn’tallowit,Isuppose.Yes,I’lldance.

           (Soshedancesaroundtheroomtoatunefromdown-stairs,herarmsoutstretchedtoanimaginarypartner,thecigarettewavinginherhand.)

           SEVERALHOURSLATER

           Thecornerofadendown-stairs,filledbyaverycomfortableleatherlounge.Asmalllightisoneachsideabove,andinthemiddle,overthecouchhangsapaintingofaveryold,verydignifiedgentleman,period1860.Outsidethemusicisheardinafox-trot.

           ROSALINDisseatedontheloungeandonherleftisHOWARDGILLESPIE,avapidyouthofabouttwenty-four.Heisobviouslyveryunhappy,andsheisquitebored.

           GILLESPIE:(Feebly)WhatdoyoumeanI’vechanged.Ifeelthesametowardyou.

           ROSALIND:Butyoudon’tlookthesametome.

           GILLESPIE:ThreeweeksagoyouusedtosaythatyoulikedmebecauseIwassoblasé,soindifferent—Istillam.

           ROSALIND:Butnotaboutme.Iusedtolikeyoubecauseyouhadbrowneyesandthinlegs.

           GILLESPIE:(Helplessly)They’restillthinandbrown.You’reavampire,that’sall.

           ROSALIND:TheonlythingIknowaboutvampingiswhat’sonthepianoscore.WhatconfusesmenisthatI’mperfectlynatural.Iusedtothinkyouwereneverjealous.NowyoufollowmewithyoureyeswhereverIgo.

           GILLESPIE:Iloveyou.

           ROSALIND:(Coldly)Iknowit.

           GILLESPIE:Andyouhaven’tkissedmefortwoweeks.Ihadanideathatafteragirlwaskissedshewas—was—won.

           ROSALIND:Thosedaysareover.Ihavetobewonalloveragaineverytimeyouseeme.