| Paul:
|
| Now then; |
| business, Melanie. |
| What did Lord Sheere say to you last night?
|
| Melanie:
|
| Not very much, but he was very ardent
|
| Paul:
|
| Good. |
| He is coming here this morning
|
| Melanie:
|
| This morning?
|
| Paul:
|
| Yes, I wrote him a note from you. |
| I will recieve him, and when I have talked
|
| with him for a little he will propose marriage
|
| Melanie:
|
| He seemed last night to wish for something a little less binding
|
| Paul:
|
| Never mind. |
| When he proposes, you will accept him
|
| Melanie:
|
| When may I love somebody, please?
|
| Paul:
|
| Not until you are safely married—and then only with the greatest discretion
|
| Melanie:
|
| I see
|
| Paul:
|
| What is the matter?
|
| Melanie:
|
| It doesn’t feel like my birthday anymore
|
| A cloud has passed across the sun
|
| The morning seems no longer gay
|
| Paul:
|
| I had better get on with these bills. |
| You had better go and dress
|
| Melanie:
|
| Very well
|
| With so much business to be done
|
| Even the sea looks grey
|
| Paul:
|
| Do not be silly
|
| Melanie:
|
| C’est vrai
|
| C’est vrai
|
| It seems that all the joy has faded from the day
|
| As though the foolish world no longer wants to play
|
| Paul:
|
| Do go and dress, Melanie
|
| Melanie:
|
| What shall I wear? |
| A balck crêpe, with a lace bonnet?
|
| Paul:
|
| What is the matter with you this morning?
|
| Melanie:
|
| White, white for a bride—but the sun ought to shine on a bride
|
| Paul:
|
| You are not a bride—yet
|
| Melanie:
|
| But I shall be soon. |
| Shall I not? |
| A very quiet aristocratic bride with a
|
| discrete heart
|
| You ask me to have a discreet heart
|
| Until marriage is out of the way
|
| But what if I meet
|
| With a sweetheart so sweet
|
| That my wayward heart cannot obey?
|
| A single word that you may say?
|
| Paul:
|
| Then we shall have to go away
|
| Melanie:
|
| No. For there is nowhere we could go
|
| Where we could hide from what we know
|
| Is true
|
| Paul:
|
| Do stop talking nonsense
|
| Melanie:
|
| It is not nonsense. |
| You are so sure that everything in life can be
|
| arranged—just so—like arithmetic
|
| Paul:
|
| Why not? |
| Emotion is so very untidy
|
| Melanie:
|
| The sun has come out again. |
| I feel a little better
|
| Paul:
|
| Good
|
| Melanie:
|
| I’m sorry
|
| Paul:
|
| Merci ma chéri
|
| Melanie:
|
| Don’t be afraid I’ll betray you
|
| And destroy all the plans you have made
|
| But even your schemes
|
| Must leave room for my dreams
|
| So when all I owe to you is paid
|
| I’ll still have something of my own
|
| A little prize that’s mine alone
|
| I’ll follow my secret heart
|
| My whole life through
|
| I’ll keep all my dreams apart
|
| Till one comes true
|
| No matter what price is paid
|
| What stars may fade
|
| Above
|
| I’ll follow my secret heart
|
| Till I find love |