GLORIA (sweeping round at him again). What gifts were you born with,
pray?

VALENTINE. Lightness of heart.

GLORIA. And lightness of head, and lightness of faith, and lightness
of everything that makes a man.

VALENTINE. Yes, the whole world is like a feather dancing in the
light now; and Gloria is the sun. (She rears her head angrily.) I beg
your pardon: I'm off. Back at nine. Good-bye. (He runs off gaily,
leaving her standing in the middle of the room staring after him.)

END OF ACT III


Act IV


The same room. Nine o'clock. Nobody present. The lamps are
lighted; but the curtains are not drawn. The window stands wide open;
and strings of Chinese lanterns are glowing among the trees outside,
with the starry sky beyond. The band is playing dance-music in the
garden, drowning the sound of the sea.

The waiter enters, shewing in Crampton and McComas. Crampton looks
cowed and anxious. He sits down wearily and timidly on the ottoman.

WAITER. The ladies have gone for a turn through the grounds to see
the fancy dresses, sir. If you will be so good as to take seats,