Ann: No.
Ninian: Those days are over, my darling.
[Ninian turns her face round and kisses and kisses her. When he is finished, they are both flushed; her hair is dishevelled and he is out of breath.
Ninian: That’s what you needed, isn’t it?
Ann: How dare you! How dare you!
Ninian: You prefer the imaginary Mr. Jordan?
Ann: If you ever do that again, I shall kill you!
Ninian: What a little vixen you are!
Ann: I mean it.
Ninian: My dear, seriously, you ask a little too much of life. For years you have been worshipped from afar by reverent friends as a saint and a statue. I joined them in my awe of the cold, good woman, beautiful and untouched. I respected my model wife. Then, one fine day, you tell us that you have a lover—you proclaim it with flaming passion. No one believes you. Of course it isn’t true. You are the saint. What you say is only the flaring loyalty of friendship. You are such a wonderful friend, with such a beautiful, unworldly sense of the relationship.