Woman: But I shan't flatter you by standing at the back of your aisle, and you needn't think it. Haven't I given you a box before now?
Priest: I only accepted the box as a matter of duty; it is part of my duty to go everywhere.
Man: Come with me, Miss Cohenson. I've got two tickets for the Record.
Woman: Oh, so you do send seats to the press?
Priest: The press is different. Waiter, bring me half a bottle of Heidsieck.
Waiter: Half a bottle of Heidsieck? Yes, sir.
Woman: Heidsieck. Well, I like that. We're dieting.
Priest: I don't like Heidsieck. But I'm dieting too. It's my doctor's orders. Every night before retiring. It appears that my system needs it. Maria Lady Rowndell insists on giving me a hundred a year to pay for it. It is her own beautiful way of helping the good cause. Ice, please, waiter. I've just been seeing her to-night. She's staying here for the season. Saves her a lot of trouble. She's very much cut up about the death of Priam Farll, poor thing! So artistic, you know! The late Lord Rowndell had what is supposed to be the finest lot of Farlls in England.
Man: Did you ever meet Priam Farll, Father Luke?
Priest: Never. I understand he was most eccentric. I hate eccentricity. I once wrote to him to ask him if he would paint a Holy Family for St. Bede's.