HE. Manuscripts?

HER HUSBAND. Yes. Would you like to look at them a little closer?
[He proffers them under Henry's nose].

HE [as with a sudden illumination of glad surprise] Why, these
are my poems.

HER HUSBAND. So I gather.

HE. What a shame! Mrs Bompas has shown them to you! You must
think me an utter ass. I wrote them years ago after reading
Swinburne's Songs Before Sunrise. Nothing would do me then but I
must reel off a set of Songs to the Sunrise. Aurora, you know:
the rosy fingered Aurora. They're all about Aurora. When Mrs
Bompas told me her name was Aurora, I couldn't resist the
temptation to lend them to her to read. But I didn't bargain for
your unsympathetic eyes.

HER HUSBAND [grinning] Apjohn: that's really very ready of you.
You are cut out for literature; and the day will come when Rory
and I will be proud to have you about the house. I have heard far
thinner stories from much older men.

HE [with an air of great surprise] Do you mean to imply that you
don't believe me?

HER HUSBAND. Do you expect me to believe you?