Paula.
[Fiercely.] The Orreyeds! I—I hate the Orreyeds! I lie awake at night, hating them!
Drummle.
Pardon me, I've understood that their visit is, in some degree, owing to—hem!—your suggestion.
Paula.
Heavens! that doesn't make me like them better. Somehow or another, I—I've outgrown these people. This woman—I used to think her "jolly!"—sickens me. I can't breathe when she's near me: the whiff of her handkerchief turns me faint! And she patronises me by the hour, until I—I feel my nails growing longer with every word she speaks!
Drummle.
My dear lady, why on earth don't you say all this to Aubrey?
Paula.
Oh, I've been such an utter fool, Cayley!