Justina.
No, I haven’t the slightest inclination that way.
Mrs. Cloys.
Oh, my dear, you still tell fibs, then?
Justina.
Indeed, aunt?
[Justina retires; Sir Fletcher advances. Mrs. Cloys kisses him, then looks him up and down.
Mrs. Cloys.
Well, Fletcher, so they’ve knighted you, have they?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.