Kit. [Uncomfortably] You’re a queer girl.
Sydney. But he is.
Kit. Yes—but—
Sydney. What?
Kit. Your own father—
Sydney. [Impatiently] My dear boy, I’ve never even seen him. Oh, of course it’s very sad, but I can’t go about with my handkerchief to my eyes all the time, can I?
Kit. Yes—but—
Sydney. I hate cant.
Kit. [Leaning over the back of the sofa, his hands playing with her chain] You little brute—you’re as hard as nails, aren’t you?
Sydney. [Putting up her face to him] Am I? [They kiss.]