She.—Chivalrous knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It jars a little, and you might swear at me.
He.—My angel! I didn't know what I was saying, and you changed so quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologise in dust and ashes.
She.—Spare those. There'll be enough of them later on. (As the Captain rides by) Good night, Captain Congleton. Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you next week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said. If you've made a mistake I certainly don't intend to suffer for it. You must alter your programme.
He. (After a pause).—I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this season?
She.—Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances very nicely.
He.—And sit out with him I suppose?
She.—Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in future?
He.—What does he talk to you about?
She.—What do men talk about when they sit out?
He.—Ugh! Don't! Well now I'm up, you must dispense with the fascinating Congleton for a while. I don't like him.
She. (After a long pause).—Do you know what you have said?
He.—Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers.
She.—So I see and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your "eternal constancy," "unalterable trust" and "reverent devotion"? I remember those phrases: you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man's name
He.—A good deal more than that.
She.—Well, speak to him about a dance—perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in my life before Ibefore I go away; and you at once distrust and insult me.
He.—I never said a word.
