Several Hours Later.
The corner of a den down-stairs, filled by a very comfortable leather lounge. A small light is on each side above, and in the middle, over the couch hangs a painting of a very old, very dignified gentleman, period 1860. Outside the music is heard in a fox-trot.
Rosalind is seated on the lounge and on her left is Howard Gillespie , a vapid youth of about twenty-four. He is obviously very unhappy, and she is quite bored.
Gillespie : (Feebly ) What do you mean I’ve changed. I feel the same toward you.
Rosalind : But you don’t look the same to me.
Gillespie : Three weeks ago you used to say that you liked me because I was so blasé, so indifferent—I still am.
Rosalind : But not about me. I used to like you because you had brown eyes and thin legs.
Gillespie : (Helple
