Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Yes, Lady T. Imagine what it must mean to a shy man to spend a rollickin’ August with a lot of people whose chief occupation is staring at the tips of their own aquiline noses.
Lady Twombley.
[Hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha!
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Imagine what it must be to a shy man to find himself always leading the conversation, instead of following it with a sparkling comment or two, as I’m in the ’abit of doin’ in my own circle. Think of me starting every topic and arguing on it till my throat’s sore; making every joke and roaring at it till I get blood to the head. Sometimes when I’m in the middle of a long story and not a soul listening I feel so lonely I—I could almost cry.
Lady Twombley.
Then out of your own sufferings why can’t you find some compassion for mine?
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
It’s pathetic—that’s what my position is—it’s dooced pathetic.