[Smiling.] My poor Claudio!
Claude.
[Not looking at her.] No, don’t pity me—despise me. Kitty, how easy it is for a fellow to imperil a woman’s reputation!
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
[Amused.] Yes, isn’t it?
Claude.
We attach ourselves to a pretty married woman; we lounge in her drawing-room, her boudoir; we make her our toy, our pastime. Do we allow a single thought of the scandal we may involve her in to check us in our pursuit of pleasure?
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
[Demurely.] No, I suppose you don’t.
Claude.