GINEVRA, with a clever glance at Amy, 'Cosmo, you promised to see me home.' COSMO, the polite, 'Right O.' GINEVRA. 'But you haven't got your boots on.' COSMO. 'I won't be a minute.' He pauses at the door. 'I say I believe you're trying to get rid of me. Look here, I won't budge till you tell me what mother is speaking about to father.' AMY. 'It is about the drawing-room curtains.' COSMO. 'Good lord!' As soon as he has gone they rush at each other; they don't embrace; they stop when their noses are an inch apart, and then talk. This is the stage way for lovers. It is difficult to accomplish without rubbing noses, but they have both been practising. GINEVRA. 'Quick, Amy, did you get the letters?' AMY. 'There are no letters.' Ginevra is so taken aback that her nose bobs. Otherwise the two are absolutely motionless. She cleverly recovers herself. GINEVRA. 'No letters; how unlike life. You are quite sure?' AMY. 'I have my mother's word for it.' GINEVRA. 'Is that enough?' AMY. 'And you now have mine.' GINEVRA. 'Then it hadn't gone far?' AMY. 'No, merely a painful indiscretion. But if father had known it--you know what husbands are.' GINEVRA. 'Yes, indeed. Did he follow her?' Amy nods. 'Did you hide?' Amy nods again. AMY. 'Worse than that, Ginevra. To deceive him I had to pretend that I was the woman. And now--Ginevra, can you guess?--' Here they have to leave off doing noses. On the stage it can be done for ever so much longer, but only by those who are paid accordingly. GINEVRA. 'You don't mean--?' AMY. 'I think I do, but what do you mean?'