Paula.
What I told my maid to call him. What next will you think of me?
Aubrey.
Forgive me. You must be starved.
Paula.
[Eating fruit.] I didn't care. As there was nothing to eat, I sat in my best frock, with my toes on the dining-room fender, and dreamt, oh, such a lovely dinner-party.
Aubrey.
Dear lonely little woman!
Paula.
It was perfect. I saw you at the end of a very long table, opposite me, and we exchanged sly glances now and again over the flowers. We were host and hostess, Aubrey, and had been married about five years.