PURDIE. At the time I thought a still sadder word was Joanna.

MABEL. What was it you saw in me that made you love me?

PURDIE (plumbing the well of his emotions). I think it was the feeling
that you are so like myself.

MABEL (with great eyes). Have you noticed that, Jack? Sometimes it has
almost terrified me.

PURDIE. We think the same thoughts; we are not two, Mabel; we are one.
Your hair--

MABEL. Joanna knows you admire it, and for a week she did hers in the
same way.

PURDIE. I never noticed.

MABEL. That was why she gave it up. And it didn't really suit her.
(Ruminating.) I can't think of a good way of doing dear Joanna's hair.
What is that you are muttering to yourself, Jack? Don't keep anything
from me.

PURDIE. I was repeating a poem I have written: it is in two words,
'Mabel Purdie.' May I teach it to you, sweet: say 'Mabel Purdie' to
me.

MABEL (timidly covering his mouth with her little hand). If I were to
say it, Jack, I should be false to Joanna: never ask me to be that.
Let us go on.