THE COMPLETE WORKS OF F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд

different.

      HE: Odd, you have the same point of view on men that I have on women.

      SHE: I’m not really feminine, you know — in my mind.

      HE: (Interested) Go on.

      SHE: No, you — you go on — you’ve made me talk about myself. That’s against the rules.

      HE: Rules?

      SHE: My own rules — but you — Oh, Amory, I hear you’re brilliant. The family expects so much of you.

      HE: How encouraging!

      SHE: Alec said you’d taught him to think. Did you? I didn’t believe any one could.

      HE: No. I’m really quite dull.

      (He evidently doesn’t intend this to be taken seriously.)

      SHE: Liar.

      HE: I’m — I’m religious — I’m literary. I’ve — I’ve even written poems.

      SHE: Vers libre — splendid! (She declaims.)

      “The trees are green,

      The birds are singing in the trees,

      The girl sips her poison

      The bird flies away the girl dies.”

      HE: (Laughing) No, not that kind.

      SHE: (Suddenly) I like you.

      HE: Don’t.

      SHE: Modest too —

      HE: I’m afraid of you. I’m always afraid of a girl — until I’ve kissed her.

      SHE: (Emphatically) My dear boy, the war is over.

      HE: So I’ll always be afraid of you.

      SHE: (Rather sadly) I suppose you will.

      (A slight hesitation on both their parts.)

      HE: (After due consideration) Listen. This is a frightful thing to ask.

      SHE: (Knowing what’s coming) After five minutes.

      HE: But will you — kiss me? Or are you afraid?

      SHE: I’m never afraid — but your reasons are so poor.

      HE: Rosalind, I really want to kiss you.

      SHE: So do I.

      (They kiss — definitely and thoroughly.)

      HE: (After a breathless second) Well, is your curiosity satisfied?

      SHE: Is yours?

      HE: No, it’s only aroused.

      (He looks it.)

      SHE: (Dreamily) I’ve kissed dozens of men. I suppose I’ll kiss dozens more.

      HE: (Abstractedly) Yes, I suppose you could — like that.

      SHE: Most people like the way I kiss.

      HE: (Remembering himself) Good Lord, yes. Kiss me once more, Rosalind.

      SHE: No — my curiosity is generally satisfied at one.

      HE: (Discouraged) Is that a rule?

      SHE: I make rules to fit the cases.

      HE: You and I are somewhat alike — except that I’m years older in experience.

      SHE: How old are you?

      HE: Almost twenty-three. You?

      SHE: Nineteen — just.

      HE: I suppose you’re the product of a fashionable school.

      SHE: No — I’m fairly raw material. I was expelled from Spence — I’ve forgotten why.

      HE: What’s your general trend?

      SHE: Oh, I’m bright, quite selfish, emotional when aroused, fond of admiration —

      HE: (Suddenly) I don’t want to fall in love with you —

      SHE: (Raising her eyebrows) Nobody asked you to.

      HE: (Continuing coldly) But I probably will. I love your mouth.

      SHE: Hush! Please don’t fall in love with my mouth — hair, eyes, shoulders, slippers — but not my mouth. Everybody falls in love with my mouth.

      HE: It’s quite beautiful.

      SHE: It’s too small.

      HE: No it isn’t — let’s see.

      (He kisses her again with the same thoroughness.)

      SHE: (Rather moved) Say something sweet.

      HE: (Frightened) Lord help me.

      SHE: (Drawing away) Well, don’t — if it’s so hard.

      HE: Shall we pretend? So soon?

      SHE: We haven’t the same standards of time as other people.

      HE: Already it’s — other people.

      SHE: Let’s pretend.

      HE: No — I can’t — it’s sentiment.

      SHE: You’re not sentimental?

      HE: No, I’m romantic — a sentimental person thinks things will last — a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t. Sentiment is emotional.

      SHE: And you’re not? (With her eyes half-closed.) You probably flatter yourself that that’s a superior attitude.

      HE: Well — Rosalind, Rosalind, don’t argue — kiss me again.

      SHE: (Quite chilly now) No — I have no desire to kiss you.

      HE: (Openly taken aback) You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.

      SHE: This is now.

      HE: I’d better go.

      SHE: I suppose so.

      (He goes toward the door.)

      SHE: Oh!

      (He turns.)

      SHE: (Laughing) Score — Home Team: One hundred — Opponents: Zero.

      (He starts back.)

      SHE: (Quickly) Rain — no game.

      (He goes out.)

      (She goes quietly to the chiffonier, takes out a cigarette-case and hides it in the side drawer of a desk. Her mother enters, notebook in hand.)

      MRS. CONNAGE: Good — I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone before we go downstairs.

      ROSALIND: Heavens! you frighten me!

      MRS. CONNAGE: Rosalind, you’ve been a very expensive proposition.

      ROSALIND: (Resignedly) Yes.

      MRS. CONNAGE: And you know your father hasn’t what he once had.

      ROSALIND: (Making a wry face) Oh, please don’t talk about money.

      MRS. CONNAGE: You can’t do anything without it. This is our last year in this house — and unless things change Cecelia won’t have the advantages you’ve had.

      ROSALIND: (Impatiently) Well — what is it?

      MRS. CONNAGE: So I ask you to please mind me in several things I’ve put down in my notebook. The first one is: don’t disappear with young men. There may be a time when it’s valuable, but at present I want you on the dance-floor where I can find you. There are certain men I want to have you meet and I don’t like finding you in some corner of the conservatory exchanging silliness with any one — or listening to it.

      ROSALIND: (Sarcastically)