Dear Jones [forgetting his lines, and improvising]: How—how—odd we should meet again just here. Funny, isn’t it?
Baby Van Rensselaer: It is exceedingly humorous.
Dear Jones: I did not tell you, did I!—when I saw you on the train, you know—that I had to go to New London, after I’d finished my work at Sag Harbor.
Baby Van Rensselaer [uncompromisingly]: I don’t think you said anything about New London at all.
Dear Jones: I probably said the Pequot House. It’s the same thing, you know. I have to go to New London to inspect the Race Rock lighthouse—you’ve heard of the famous lighthouse at Race Rock, of course.
Baby Van Rensselaer: I don’t think its fame has reached me.
Dear Jones: It’s a very curious structure, indeed. And, the fact is, one of my—my billionaires—wants a lighthouse. He has an extraordinary notion of building a lighthouse near his place on the seashore—a lighthouse of his own. Odd idea, isn’t it?
Baby Van Rensselaer: It is a very odd proceeding altogether, I should say.
Dear Jones: I suppose you mean that I am a very odd proceeding. Well, I will confess, and throw myself on your mercy. I did hope to meet you—and the Duch—Mrs. Martin. After two weeks of the society of billionaires, I think I’m excusable.… [A painful pause.] And I had to go to Race Rock, so I got off a day earlier than I had meant to, by cutting one of the turrets out of my original plan—he didn’t mind—there are eleven left—and—and—will you forgive me?