Lady C. There is nothing to say of me, dear Everard. I—was. Among you young people I seem to move like a—tradition. Margaret says the things I used to say—she dreams my dead dreams. And I am fond of her—because I see in her—my old self.
Everard. (eagerly) That self has not suffered—time only has mellowed it—wisdom has crowned it—
Lady C. (cheerfully) You must not waste those pretty speeches on me! And tell me, why this affected indifference? Do I not know how passionately you adore her?
Everard. (rising) Lady Claude, I will confess to you, frankly and honestly, there was a time when I believed I loved Margaret—
Lady C. (staring) When you believed—!
Everard. As your father observes—quoting Tolstoy, I think—I was attracted by a well-fitting jersey and a pair of Paris shoes.
Lady C. Everard!
Everard. But it was, I need scarcely say, the merest infatuation—
Lady C. What!!!