Cedric. What of?
Flora. Us!... Now look here, Cedric, don't you think it would be a pity to stop this creature, who is so unique in her line, from giving a full exhibition of her unique powers at a unique moment; at the very height of her career. You know, she'll never have another opportunity like this of proving that she really is unique in her line.
Cedric. What do you call her line? Let's be clear.
Flora. (Quietly, off-handedly, after a pause.) To charm. Merely that.
Cedric. By God! She can do that. But (winningly, but half to himself), I hardly know how to put it.
Flora. I think you do, dearest; but you're so nice, you don't like to. You wanted to make a comparison between the importance of your line and the importance of mine. I admit all that. I'm quite humble. I fully admit that if Hyde Park were full of aviators and Battersea Park were full of charming young women, rather pretty and—er—chic—(gesture to show off her frock)—I fully admit that not a man among you would ever dream—of crossing the river. I fully admit that if every aviator in Europe gave up business to-morrow the entire world would go into mourning, whereas if all the charming women retired from business they'd never be missed. Still——
Cedric. (Appreciative.) You're a witty girl——
Flora. We're both rather witty, aren't we, at times?
Cedric. But the fact is I wasn't going to make any comparison at all between our respective lines. I was only going to point out that you can keep on being charming all the time. You're always charming; you're always doing your line. Whereas for my line I have to choose times and seasons—or rather I don't choose 'em, they're chosen for me, as, for instance, just now. Wherever we are, honeymoon or no honeymoon, you're—well, you're giving an exhibition flight.
Flora. Now, Cedric, your good nature's getting the better of your sincerity. I'm not always charming. Ask your dear mother. And have you forgotten our historic shindy about the length of your moustache scarcely three months ago? I'm not always charming. And I don't want to be always charming. Who would? As for exhibition flights, you've never seen me give one. You think you have, but what you've seen up to now is nothing. I don't mind telling you that I had arranged a rather sensational exhibition flight for the next month. It would last just thirty-one days. I don't mind telling you that I've thought a good deal about it, and made all my elaborate preparations. It really would be a pity to interfere with it. And you know it can't be postponed. I don't choose time and season any more than you do.