The Bishop. I confess I am less sanguine. (To himself.) Shall I have strength to bear these buffets with any remains of Christian forbearance through three more courses? Ha, thank Heaven, the salad!
[He cheers up at the sight of this olive-branch.
Mrs. Earwaker (to Pilliner). Now, I don't altogether approve of the New Woman myself; but still, I am glad to see how women are beginning to assert themselves and come to the front; surely you sympathise with all that?
Pilliner (plaintively). No, really I can't, you know! I'd so much rather they wouldn't. They've made us poor men feel positively obsolete! They'll snub us out of existence soon—our sex will be extinct—and then they'll be sorry. There'll be nobody to protect them from one another! After all, we can't help being what we are. It isn't my fault that I was born a Man Thing—now, is it?
Lady Cantire (overhearing this remark). Well, if it is a fault, Mr. Pilliner, we must all acknowledge that you've done everything in your power to correct it!
Pilliner (sweetly). How nice and encouraging of you, dear Lady Cantire, to take up the cudgels for me like that!
[Lady Cantire privately relieves her feelings by expressing a preference for taking up a birch rod, and renews her attack on the Bishop.
Mr. Shorthorn (who has been dragging his mental depths for a fresh topic—hopefully, to Miss Spelwane). By the bye, I haven't asked you what you thought about these—er—revolting daughters?
Miss Spelwane. No, you haven't; and I thought it so considerate of you.
[Mr. Shorthorn gives up dragging, in discouragement.