ANNE. Oh!... I am different, aren’t I?
LEONARD. Darling!
ANNE. I’m not a bit like—like anybody else, am I, not even when I’m cross?
LEONARD. Darling!
ANNE. And you do love me?
LEONARD. Darling! (He wants to kiss her, but she stops him.)
ANNE. No. Now you’re going to smoke. (She settles him in his chair, takes a cigarette from his case, and puts it in his mouth) I’ll light it for you. Matches? (She holds out her hand for them.)
DOMINIC (who has a way of being there when wanted). Matches, my lady. (He hands them to her. They are both rather confused.)
ANNE. Thank you.
LEONARD (annoyed). Thanks. (He gets up, takes the matches from ANNE, and lights his cigarette. DOMINIC gives a professional touch to the table and goes out.) Damn that fellow!