“I don't like rooms to be affected,” replied Stella. “I call this damned affected.”
Randall said lovingly: “Shall I now tell you what I think of that hat you are wearing, my precious?”
“As a matter of fact, I know it isn't one of my better efforts,” admitted Stella candidly. “So you needn't trouble. Where can we talk?”
“In here,” said Randall, leading the way to the library. “Don't hesitate to say what you think of this room, will you? Your opinion is entirely valueless, but I shouldn't like you to feel constrained to keep it to yourself.”
“Well, I don't mind this room,” said Stella. “A bit opulent, perhaps, but that's your affair.” She walked over to the fireplace, inspected a bronze figure on the mantelpiece, and said rather haltingly: “Look here—I—you're probably wondering what on earth I've come here for.”
“Oh no!” said Randall, setting his finger on the bell. “You have come here because you want me to do something for you. I have few illusions, my pet.”
“No, I don't. Not exactly. At least—Well, I'd better explain.”
“Reserve your explanations until you have removed that hat and powdered your nose,” said Randall.
“I'm not going to remove it. I've only come for a minute.”
“Whether you have come for a minute or for an hour, I decline to sit looking at that utterly discordant atrocity. I did not invite you to my flat, and if you do not care to make yourself presentable you may go away again,” said Randall coolly.