Cedric. What?
Flora. After all, your dear mother's prophecy was quite correct. I was just going to throw myself into your arms—but of course I couldn't do it while she was there, could I? (Picks up Thermos cup, to screw it on to the flask, holding it at arm's length.) Henceforth, sacred!
(Cedric roughly seizes her and kisses her.)
(After freeing herself, as she puts the flask in the bag.) It's a good thing I like them rough.
Cedric. What?
Flora. A man—and his chin.
Cedric. (Snatching at the bag and looking at his watch.) Let's go out by the garden.... Probably find a cab. Motor would make too much noise, and rouse the mater. She'll never get over this.
Flora. (Calmly.) Oh yes, she will. We all shall. (Stops.) But my trunks, and yours?
Cedric. I'll wire to Charlie from Liverpool Street to bring them down.... Confound him!