MITCHENER (putting his pistol down on the table). True. Quite true. I recognize there the practical good sense that has prevented you from falling into the snares of the Suffragets.
LADY CORINTHIA. The Suffragets, General, are the dupes of dowdies. A really attractive and clever woman—
MITCHENER (gallantly). Yourself, for instance.
LADY CORINTHIA (snatching up his revolver). Another step and you are a dead man.
MITCHENER (amazed). My dear lady!
LADY CORINTHIA. I am not your dear lady. You are not the first man who has concluded that because I am devoted to music and can reach F flat with the greatest facility—Patti never got above E flat—I am marked out as the prey of every libertine. You think I am like the thousands of weak women whom you have ruined—
MITCHENER. I solemnly protest—
LADY CORINTHIA. Oh, I know what you officers are. To you a woman's honor is nothing, and the idle pleasure of the moment is everything.
MITCHENER. This is perfectly ridiculous. I never ruined anyone in my life.
LADY CORINTHIA. Never! Are you in earnest?