FRANK (on the Lawn).
Come to the Terrace, May,--the sun is low.
MAY (in the House).
Thanks, I prefer my Browning here instead.
There are two peaches by the strawberry bed.
They will be riper if we let them grow.
Then the Park-aloe is in bloom, you know.
Also, her Majesty Queen Anne is dead.
But surely, May, your pony must be fed.
And was, and is. I fed him hours ago.
'Tis useless, Frank, you see I shall not stir.
Still, I had something you would like to hear.
No doubt some new frivolity of men.
Nay,--'tis a thing the gentler sex deplores
Chiefly, I think....
MAY (coming to the window).
What is this secret, then?
There are no eyes more beautiful than yours!