In a terrace garden overlooking the Neva. Claire, a robust young English lady, is leaning on the river wall. She turns expectantly on hearing the garden gate opened and closed. Edstaston hurries in. With a cry of delight she throws her arms round his neck.
CLAIRE. Darling!
EDSTASTON [making a wry face]. Don't call me darling.
CLAIRE [amazed and chilled]. Why?
EDSTASTON. I have been called darling all the morning.
CLAIRE [with a flash of jealousy]. By whom?
EDSTASTON. By everybody. By the most unutterable swine. And if we do not leave this abominable city now: do you hear? now; I shall be called darling by the Empress.
CLAIRE [with magnificent snobbery]. She would not dare. Did you tell her you were engaged to me?
EDSTASTON. Of course not.
CLAIRE. Why?