so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and
mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely
matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're
always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for
their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of
the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same
time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle
of--there's no question of ratiocination.

TRANTO. Of what?

HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.

TRANTO. Oh no!

HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if
only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears!
They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes
life worth living.

TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's
knee.

HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do
mean.

TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met.
You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me.
I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh
revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first.