Ventnor. Forgotten, I mean, that we were old friends?
Mrs. Dale. Such old friends! May I remind you that it’s nearly twenty years since we’ve met? Or do you find cold reminiscences indigestible?
Ventnor. On the contrary, I’ve come to ask you for a dish of them—we’ll warm them up together. You’re my first visit.
Mrs. Dale. How perfect of you! So few men visit their women friends in chronological order; or at least they generally do it the other way round, beginning with the present day and working back—if there’s time—to prehistoric woman.
Ventnor. But when prehistoric woman has become historic woman—?
Mrs. Dale. Oh, it’s the reflection of my glory that has guided you here, then?
Ventnor. It’s a spirit in my feet that has led me, at the first opportunity, to the most delightful spot I know.
Mrs. Dale. Oh, the first opportunity—!
Ventnor. I might have seen you very often before; but never just in the right way.
Mrs. Dale. Is this the right way?