Sydney. No?
Kit. I wish I could make you out.
Sydney. [An ache in her voice] Oh, I wish you could.
Kit. [Responding instantly] I say, old thing, is anything really the matter?
Sydney. [With a glance at Margaret] I’m worried.
Kit. Oh, that! Yes, it’s beastly for your mother.
Sydney. Oh, it’s not that. At least—
Kit. What?
Sydney. [Lightly] Oh, I don’t know.
Kit. [Puzzled] Can’t you tell me?