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.

LADY CAROLINE. Your lass, dearest. Jim's lass.

MATEY (pulling her ear). And don't you forget it.

LADY CAROLINE (with the curiosity of woman). What would you do if I
were to forget it, great bear?

MATEY. Take a stick to you.

LADY CAROLINE (so proud of him). I love to hear you talk like that;
it is so virile. I always knew that it was a master I needed.

MATEY. It's what you all need.

LADY CAROLINE. It is, it is, you knowing wretch.

MATEY. Listen, Caroliny. (He touches his money pocket, which emits a
crinkly sound--the squeak of angels.) That is what gets the ladies.

LADY CAROLINE. How much have you made this week, you wonderful man?

MATEY (blandly). Another two hundred or so. That's all, just two
hundred or so.

LADY CAROLINE (caressing her wedding ring). My dear golden fetter,
listen to him. Kiss my fetter, Jim.

MATEY. Wait till I light this cigar.

LADY CAROLINE. Let me hold the darling match.

MATEY. Tidy-looking Petitey Corona, this. There was a time when one of
that sort would have run away with two days of my screw.

LADY CAROLINE. How I should have loved, Jim, to know you when you were
poor. Fancy your having once been a clerk.

MATEY (remembering Napoleon and others). We all have our beginnings.
But it wouldn't have mattered how I began, Caroliny: I should have
come to the top just the same. (Becoming a poet himself.) I am a
climber and there are nails in my boots for