SIR JASPER.
We always like to see these things, don’t we, Aston? Do you remember Mrs. Towler? How pretty she was! And the way we criticized her literary productions. . . .
ASTON.
Mrs. Towler. . . . (He shudders as though he had touched something soft and filthy.) Oh, don’t, Jasper, don’t!
SIR JASPER.
Dear Mrs. Towler! We were very nice about her poems, weren’t we? Do you remember the one that began:
“My Love is like a silvern flower-de-luce
Within some wondrous dream-garden pent:
God made my lovely lily not for use,
But for an ornament.”
Even Cain, I believe, saw the joke of that.
ASTON.