PAMELA (coming to him and taking his arm). As long as you don't throw me.
GERALD. Pamela, you're talking rubbish. I talk a good deal myself, but I do keep within the bounds. Let's go and chatter to Bob about contangos. I don't know what they are, but they sound extraordinarily sober.
PAMELA (gently). Poor old Bob!
GERALD (quickly). Why poor old Bob?
PAMELA. He's worried about something. I tried to get him to tell me as we came from the station, but he wouldn't.
GERALD. Poor old Bob! I suppose things are going up—or down, or something. Brokerage one-eighth—that's what's worrying him, I expect.
PAMELA. I think he wants to talk to you about it. Be nice to him, darling, won't you?
GERALD (surprised). Nice to him?
PAMELA. You know what I mean—sympathetic. I know it's a difficult relationship—brothers.
GERALD. All relationships are difficult. But after you, he's the person I love best in the world. (With a laugh) But I don't propose to fall on his neck and tell him so.