Mrs. K. Nothing at all? well—quite?... no sign that?... you know!
Guy. I wish I did. What is it you want me to tell you?
Mrs. K. Just the truth—the honest, simple truth.
Guy. [Wilfully misunderstanding her.] Oh, your new toque! How stupid I am! I think it’s simply splendid. But you always do look nice in pink.
Mrs. K. [Beaming.] How sweet of you, Guy! But that wasn’t it.... Have you ever considered, Guy, that I should like to be a grandmother?
Guy. No. Would you really? Really and truly?
Mrs. K. Yes, Guy. The patter of little feet, the ... the soft, smooth cheeks....
Guy. But I detest children.
Mrs. K. Ah! You’ll never make me believe that. No good man hates children.
Guy. No, I s’pose not. But then, mamma, I’m not good. I remember that when I was a boy....