Oh, I say! [He comes off the table in his consternation].
MARGARET. Did you learn it from a Frenchwoman? You know you must
have learnt it from somebody.
BOBBY. Not a Frenchwoman. Shes quite a nice woman. But shes been
rather unfortunate. The daughter of a clergyman.
MARGARET. [startled] Oh, Bobby! That sort of woman!
BOBBY. What sort of woman?
MARGARET. You dont believe shes really a clergyman's daughter, do
you, you silly boy? It's a stock joke.
BOBBY. Do you mean to say you dont believe me?
MARGARET. No: I mean to say I dont believe her.
BOBBY. [curious and interested, resuming his seat on the table
beside her]. What do you know about her? What do you know about all
this sort of thing?
MARGARET. What sort of thing, Bobby?
BOBBY. Well, about life.
MARGARET. Ive lived a lot since I saw you last. I wasnt at my
aunt's. All that time that you were in Brighton, I mean.
BOBBY. I wasnt at Brighton, Meg. I'd better tell you: youre bound
to find out sooner or later. [He begins his confession humbly,
avoiding her gaze]. Meg: it's rather awful: youll think me no end
of a beast. Ive been in prison.
MARGARET. You!
BOBBY. Yes, me. For being drunk and assaulting the police.
MARGARET. Do you mean to say that you--oh! this is a let-down for me.
[She comes off the table and drops, disconsolate, into a chair at the
end of it furthest from the hearth].
BOBBY. Of course I couldnt hold you to our engagement after that.
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