ACT II

We are translated to the depths of the wood in the enchantment of a
moonlight night. In some other glade a nightingale is singing, in
this one, in proud motoring attire, recline two mortals whom we have
known in different conditions; the second chance has converted them
into husband and wife. The man, of gross muddy build, lies luxurious
on his back exuding affluence, a prominent part of him heaving
playfully, like some little wave that will not rest in a still sea. A
handkerchief over his face conceals from us what Colossus he may be,
but his mate is our Lady Caroline. The nightingale trills on, and
Lady Caroline takes up its song.

LADY CAROLINE. Is it not a lovely night, Jim. Listen, my own, to
Philomel; he is saying that he is lately married. So are we, you
ducky thing. I feel, Jim, that I am Rosalind and that you are my
Orlando.

(The handkerchief being removed MR. MATEY is revealed; and the
nightingale seeks some farther tree.)

MATEY. What do you say I am, Caroliny?

LADY CAROLINE (clapping her hands). My own one, don't you think it
would he fun if we were to write poems about each other and pin them
on the tree trunks?

MATEY (tolerantly). Poems? I never knew such a lass for high-flown
language.