"Dear me, Lord Aldean, how should I know?" (Silence for a few moments, during which, the ordinary medium for conversation proving unsuitable, recourse was had to certain more subtle means--chiefly ocular. Finally, a combination seemed to be decided upon.)
Aldean (gloomily): "I hate Dr. Johnson; don't you?"
Tui (viciously): "Not so much as I do Boswell--the nasty Poll-Pry."
Aldean: "So he is--so he was! That's another bond between us" (insinuatingly), "ain't it?"
Tui (repeating herself): "How should I know, Lord Aldean?" (Silence.)
Aldean (desperately) "Do--do you think that marriages are made in heaven?"
Tui (faintly): "I--I have heard that they are."
Aldean (speculating): "I wonder when they--whoever they are--will set about manipulating ours?"
Tui (with a maidenly perturbation): "Ours, Lord Aldean! What do you mean by ours?"
Aldean (moving his chair closer): "You know!" (No answer.) "I'm sure you know."