Hyacinth—I have forgiven you already, but tell me what you mean to do.
Symphorosa—I know you, Beatrice. When you start talking in that strain there is only one bit of advice I can give you. Don't do it.
Beatrice—You will be good enough to hold your tongue. The whole difficulty lies in the fact that Albert's interest in the girl had not been aroused. His interest—as a man.
Symphorosa—Merciful heaven!
Beatrice—Why? Does it begin so shockingly?
Hyacinth—Rather disquietingly.
Beatrice—Well, be prepared for worse. There are certain grounds beyond which Alexandra may not go. Alexandra can't flirt with him, for instance.
Symphorosa—I am beginning to be reassured.
Beatrice—Alexandra can't . . . throw herself at him.
Symphorosa—Thank God for that.
Beatrice—She wouldn't be capable of such a thing, and if she were, my pride wouldn't permit it.
Hyacinth—Well, then?
Beatrice—A man's interest in a woman . . . can best be aroused . . . through the attentions of another man.
Symphorosa—How shocking!
Hyacinth—Not yet. But it begins most curiously. Go on.
