Cedric. (After a pause; as lightly as possible.) Do you mean you think I ought to let Snowdon slide? Do you really——
Flora. Yes, of course. Don't you?
Cedric. You aren't serious?
Flora. (Persuasively.) My dearest boy, is there any reason why I shouldn't differ from you and yet be serious?
Cedric. No, of course not. But in a case like this—if there was anybody else to take my place, I wouldn't mind. Of course Smith-James could do it if only he would use our machine—but he won't. Nothing would induce him to. So as I keep on saying—there you are!
Flora. But what does it matter? Is it because the other man's machine has been called the Black Eagle in a telegram that you——
Cedric. Yes, partly.
Flora. Oh! So that if this canvas-backed duck flies first over a lump of mud called Snowdon——
Cedric. But don't I tell you Snowdon is the highest mountain in England?