Julie. Really? What did you hear then?

John. Well, that I can’t tell you, but I was really somewhat surprised, and I couldn’t understand where you’d learned all the words from. Perhaps at bottom there isn’t so great a difference between class and class as one thinks.

Julie. Oh, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! We are not like you are, and we have someone whom we love best.

John. [Fixes her with his eyes.] Are you so sure of that? You needn’t make yourself out so innocent, Miss, on my account.

Julie. The man to whom I gave my love was a scoundrel.

John. Girls always say that—afterward.

Julie. Always?

John. Always, I think. I’ve certainly already heard the phrase on several previous occasions, in similar circumstances.

Julie. What circumstances?

John. The last time

Julie. Stop! I won’t hear any more.

John. She wouldn’t either—it’s remarkable. Oh, well, will you excuse me if I go to bed?

Julie. [Tartly.] Go to bed on Midsummer Night?

John. Yes. Dance out there with the riff-raff, that doesn’t amuse me the least bit.

Julie. Take the key of the boathouse and row me out on the lake. I want to- see the sun rise.

John. Is that sensible?

Julie. It seems you’re concerned about your reputation.

John. Why not? I’m not keen on making myself look ridiculous, nor on being kicked out without a reference, if I want to set up on my own, and it seems to me I have certain obligations to Christine.