She. Well, I didn’t. I hope you feel better! Good night.
He. Wait, Agnes. I—
[There is a moment’s silence, in which they look at each other intently. He takes her hand in both his.]
He. Agnes, I am not your ideal man, but—
She. Nor I your ideal woman, apparently. Your wife does not count, you say.
He. No more than your husband; so we are quits there.
She. It’s very horrid of you to remind me of that.
He. I acknowledge that I was always very horrid in everything.
She. Oh, if you acknowledge that, Phil, it is hardly worth while to spend any more time in explanations while this divine waltz is running to waste.