Cedric. (Mock serious.) Will you believe me—I'd no notion of this at all!
Flora. I tell you what—I wouldn't mind going to Paris under an assumed name.
Cedric. Oh, no!
Flora. Why not? It would be amusing.
Cedric. I don't see myself travelling under a false name. I suppose I am too English.
Flora. Well, I don't see myself in a Paris hotel as the bride of the most celebrated English aviator, and the daughter-in-law of the most celebrated English lady-novelist. I do not! (With a characteristic gesture.) Mobbed isn't the word for what we should be.
Cedric. (Gazing at her.) You must have noticed that I'm not what you'd call gushing. I've known myself go for a month without using a single superlative; but really, my most dear girl, my Fluffiest, when you strike an attitude like that, you're more marvellously and ineffably adorable than ever. Your beauty, your charm, your enormous slap-upness—(changing his tone)—Well, ecstasy is not my line.... I only said Paris because the mater asked me if I thought we should be going there, and I told her it was possible.
Flora. Will she be there?
Cedric. No, no! Only, if we should happen to go there, she wanted me to count the panes of glass in a lamp-post on the Alexander III. bridge. One of her realistic details, you know. I expect she's got her hero staring absently up at that lamp-post—after an indiscreet evening.... She may be depending on me.