THE PRINCESS. I don't know. They haven't settled which. It's a dreadful thing to be a princess: they just marry you to anyone they like. The Inca is to come and look at me, and pick out whichever of his sons he thinks will suit. And then I shall be an alien enemy everywhere except in Perusalem, because the Inca has made war on everybody. And I shall have to pretend that everybody has made war on him. It's too bad.
ERMYNTRUDE. Still, a husband is a husband. I wish I had one.
THE PRINCESS. Oh, how can you say that! I'm afraid you're not a nice woman.
ERMYNTRUDE. Your Highness is provided for. I'm not.
THE PRINCESS. Even if you could bear to let a man touch you, you shouldn't say so.
ERMYNTRUDE. I shall not say so again, Your Highness, except perhaps to the man.
THE PRINCESS. It's too dreadful to think of. I wonder you can be so coarse. I really don't think you'll suit. I feel sure now that you know more about men than you should.
ERMYNTRUDE. I am a widow, Your Highness.
THE PRINCESS [overwhelmed]. Oh, I BEG your pardon. Of course I ought to have known you would not have spoken like that if you were not married. That makes it all right, doesn't it? I'm so sorry.
The Manager returns, white, scared, hardly able to speak.