"I think I shall take to writing reviews," he says, sweetly. "I like my own style."
A dead silence follows his "little story," and then Mrs. Herrick lifts her eyes to his.
"'I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick: nobody marks you,'" she quotes, with a touch of scorn.
"You do, my dear Lady Disdain, or else you would not have addressed me that [contemptuous] remark."
"An absurd story, altogether!" says Olga, throwing up her head, a smile lightening her eyes as they meet Kelly's. At her tone, which is more amused than annoyed, Ronayne lets his hand fall into the water close to hers, and doubtless finds its cool touch (the water's, I mean, of course) very refreshing, as it is fully five minutes before he brings it to the surface again.
"True, nevertheless," says Kelly. "Both the principals in my story were friends of mine. I knew—indeed, I may safely say I know—them well."
"I am glad you said 'were,'" says Olga, shaking her blonde head at him. Lord Rossmoyne, by this time, is looking as black as a thunder-cloud.
"A questionable friend you must be, to tell tales out of school," says Mrs. Herrick.
"I defy any one to say I have told anything," says Kelly, with much-injured innocence. "But I am quite prepared to hear my actions, as usual, grossly maligned. I am accustomed to it now. The benefit of the doubt is not for me."
"There isn't a doubt," says Hermia.