HILDEGARDE. What for?
TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.
HILDEGARDE ( angrily ). Man—woman! Man—woman! There you are! It's always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!
TRANTO ( quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively ). But I'm fatally in love with you.
HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the advantage of me.
TRANTO. Don't you care a little—
HILDEGARDE ( letting herself go ). Why should I care? What have I done to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could. You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious difficulties.
TRANTO ( equably, after a pause ), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay for lunch.
HILDEGARDE. Good morning.
TRANTO ( near the door ). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died very suddenly under mysterious circumstances?