Flora. How? Came down too quickly?
Charles. No. Driving to his hotel last night his motor ran into a statue of Bismarck, and he was thrown out.
Flora. Motor cars are really too dangerous. I wonder any aviator cares to trust himself to them.
Charles. (Admiringly.) Now it's very funny. I often want to say things like that, only I can never think of them. Cedric—he can come out with them sometimes, and so can the dad. But you're the only woman I ever struck that could.
Flora. Charlie, you're a dear. I suppose he'll be laid up for five or six weeks.
Charles. Who? Klopstock? You bet. You see what it means?
Flora. Quite. What I don't see is why you should have hesitated to tell me about it. I suppose you've told Cedric?
Charles. Yes. I brought an early copy of the paper with it in.
Flora. Where is it?
Charles. Cedric's cleared off with it.