Michael. It grieves me to see you so sad, Horace, and to feel that I can do nothing to lighten your load of sorrow.

Horace. You might go indoors, father, and prepare our midday meal. When I am sad I am very hungry.

Michael. Your appetite has been stimulated by the exertion of turning your 'bus over. I will lay the table at once.

Exit into Cottage.

Horace. Why does the world seem a little brighter all of a sudden? Why do the flowers smell more sweetly? (Looking off.) Oh, joy of joys! Impulse has not deceived me! She is coming this way-my beauty-my darling — the 'bus driver's only love!

Enter Winifred.

Winifred. May I ask you to tell me the time, Sir? I find I have left my watch at home!

Horace. (aside.)This is surely fate! (Aloud.)Just twelve o'clock, miss.

Winifred. Twelve o'clock — then it is time to go back. Thank you very much.

Horace. Ah, miss, don't go yet, if you can spare a moment to listen to a poor, heartbroken fellow!

Winifred. I am very sorry, but I have left my purse at home also.

Horace. I do not want your purse. Ah, miss, forgive me for my presumption. but I have dared to love you passionately.

Winifred. You have?

Horace. Indeed I have. (Falling on his knees.) Feel how my pulse is throbbing! Oh, if you spurn me you will seal my doom! I cannot live without you, so I shall seek a welcome death beneath the wheels of some Car of Juggernaut — some massive morning omnibus, crowded with well fed solicitors and twelvestone members of the Stock Exchange!

Winifred. (aside.) If this is not the earnestness of desperation, I am no judge of the human passions.

Horace. Oh, if only you knew the care I have taken of you!

Winifred. The care you have taken of me? I don't understand! Stay — let me look you full in the face. (Gazes into his face.) Ah, now I know you. You are the gentleman who drives the eleven o'clock omnibus from Kensal Green to London Bridge!

Horace. Yes, miss.

Winifred. It is strange I didn't recognise you at once. I always took an interest in you. (Gazes into his face again.) You are very handsome!

Horace. Yes, miss. The girls on Bank Holiday generally squabble for the box seat.

Winifred. I am not surprised at it. You are much better looking than many of the nobility.

Horace (rising — aside ). She little knows the truth! (Aloud.)Then you admire me?

Winifred. Admire is but a poor word to express the exhilarating frenzy with which your magnificent features inspire me! What is your name?

Horace. Horace Alexander de Vere.

Winifred. I do not think mamma could possibly object to a son-in-law with a name like that. Winifred de Vere will sound charming.

Horace. Ah, how sweet! Your name is Winifred! To think that all this weary time I have only known the latter part of it — Bushey. The rest was all black darkness. It might have been Martha, but it is Winifred. and I am very much relieved.

Winifred. Oh, Horace, how romantic this is! To think that I should have won the love of the very man who has so often driven me safely into Oxford Street.

Horace. Then you noticed I was careful?

Winifred. Dear mamma noticed that. She said you were a nice steady young man, and never raced Road Cars or Pirates. Poor mamma has a great horror of collisions, and when she sees a horse down she screams continuously until it is up again.

Horace. Oh, sweetheart, how rejoiced I am to learn your mother's opinion of me!

Winifred. Unfortunately I have known mamma's opinions run through several editions in one day.

Horace. I understand. You imply that her admiration of me as a driver may not extend to me as a son-in-law!

Winifred. Alas! I fear not — but oh, my king, take heart! I have given you my love, and not even my mother — no — not even my trustees shall come between me and my Horace Alexander now!