The couple break apart when they enter the room; LADY ALINE is the least bit nervous, though she shows no trace of it; MR. CROCKSTEAD absolutely imperturbable and undisturbed.
CROCKSTEAD. [Looking around.] Ah—this is the place—very quiet, retired, romantic—et cetera. Music in the distance—all very appropriate and sentimental.
[She leaves him, and sits, quietly fanning herself; he stands, looking at her.] You seem perfectly calm, Lady Aline?
ALINE. [Sitting.] Conservatories are not unusual appendages to a ball-room, Mr. Crockstead; nor is this conservatory unlike other conservatories.
CROCKSTEAD [Turning to her.] I wonder why women are always so evasive?
ALINE. With your permission we will not discuss the sex. You and I are too old to be cynical, and too young to be appreciative. And besides, it is a rule of mine, whenever I sit out a dance, that my partner shall avoid the subjects of women—and golf.
CROCKSTEAD. You limit the area of conversation. But then, in this particular instance, I take it, we have not come here to talk?
ALINE. [Coldly.] I beg your pardon!
CROCKSTEAD. [Sitting beside her.] Lady Aline, they are dancing a cotillon in there, so we have half an hour before us. We shall not be disturbed, for the Duchess, your aunt, has considerately stationed her aged companion in the corridor, with instructions to ward off intruders.
ALINE. [Very surprised.] Mr. Crockstead!