STRANGER. Your work-room?
LADY PEMBURY (looking up at him with a smile). You don't seem to like our domestic arrangements.
STRANGER (waving his hand at her embroidery). You call that work?
LADY PEMBURY (pleasantly). Other people's work always seems so contemptible, doesn't it? Now I expect if you tried to do this, you would find it very difficult indeed, and if I tried to do yours—what is your work, Mr.—er—Dear me, I don't even know your name.
STRANGER (bitterly). Never mind my name. Take it that I haven't got a name.
LADY PEMBURY. But your friends must call you something.
STRANGER. Take it that I haven't got any friends.
LADY PEMBURY. Oh, don't say that! How can you?
STRANGER (surly). What's it matter to you whether anybody cares about me?
LADY PEMBURY. Oh, never mind whether anybody cares about you; don't you care about anybody?