Cedric. Cheek, you mean. But then, of course, I am supposed to have a bit of nerve. Well, that's settled. We are to travel, then.
Flora. The point is, where?
Cedric. Where would you like?
Flora. (Radiantly.) Anywhere.
Cedric. What about Paris?
Flora. Oh, not Paris.
Cedric. Why not?
Flora. We should be simply mobbed. My dearest boy, have you ever heard speak of the simplicity of genius?
Cedric. I seem to have read about it somewhere, perhaps in the ladies' papers.
Flora. Well, you won't understand it, because you've got it—acutely.