CHARTERIS. My dear, it is because I like you that I want to marry you.
I could love anybody--any pretty woman, that is.
GRACE. Do you really mean that, Leonard?
CHARTERIS. Of course. Why not?
GRACE (reflecting). Never mind why. Now tell me, is this your first
love affair?
CHARTERIS (amazed at the simplicity of the question). No, bless my
soul. No--nor my second, nor my third.
GRACE. But I mean your first serious one.
CHARTERIS (with a certain hesitation). Yes. (There is a pause. She is
not convinced. He adds, with a very perceptible load on his
conscience.) It is the first in which _I_ have been serious.
GRACE (searchingly). I see. The other parties were always serious.
CHARTERIS. No, not always--heaven forbid!
GRACE. How often?
CHARTERIS. Well, once.
GRACE. Julia Craven?
CHARTERIS (recoiling). Who told you that? (She shakes her head
mysteriously, and he turns away from her moodily and adds) You had
much better not have asked.
GRACE (gently). I'm sorry, dear. (She puts out her hand and pulls
softly at him to bring him near her again.)
CHARTERIS (yielding mechanically to the pull, and allowing her hand to
rest on his arm, but sitting squarely without the least attempt to
return the caress).
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