PURDIE. Mabel, your dress?

MABEL (beholding it). How on earth . . . ?

JOANNA. My dress! (To PURDIE.) You were in knickerbockers in the
wood.

PURDIE. And so I am now. (He sees he is not.) Where did I change? The
wood! Let me think. The wood . . . the wood, certainly. But the
wood wasn't the wood.

JOANNA (revolving like one in pursuit). My head is going round.

MABEL. Lob's wood! I remember it all. We were here. We did go.

PURDIE. So we did. But how could . . . ? where was . . . ?

JOANNE. And who was . . . ?

MABEL And what was . . . ?

PURDIE (even in this supreme hour a man). Don't let go. Hold on to
what we were doing, or we shall lose grip of ourselves. Devotion.
Something about devotion. Hold on to devotion. 'If the dog-like
devotion of a lifetime . . . ' Which of you was I saying that to?

MABEL. To me.

PURDIE. Are you sure?