Celia. (While Martin is serving) I asked Martin to serve coffee here, because I thought it would be cosier, you know. (Having poured Smith's coffee, she passes cup to him.)
Smith. (Taking cup slowly from her) Much--much cosier; though, for both of us to-night--(Celia fills her cup)--our one idea of cosiness must be the grave.
(Celia drops pot on tray.)
Celia. (Leans forward, takes cigarette from coffee tray and lights it) The grave! Then, tell me of it, won't you? Where does it lie?
Smith. (Openly perplexed, sees Celia smoking and attempts to use this as a means of extricating himself. Pretending to be shocked) Oh! the grave! oh----
Celia. What's the matter? (Puffs her cigarette.)
Smith. (Shrugging his shoulders) Oh, nothing, nothing.
Celia. Do you object to women smoking?
Smith. I? Not at all. It's companionable, but Smith--(Celia chokes on cigarette)--would Smith have liked to see you smoking a cigarette?
Celia. (Annoyed, pauses) Perhaps not--to-night.