lord john. If you'll keep your head turned away.
ann. Why must I?
lord john. There's lightning in the glances of your eye.
ann. Do use vulgar words to me.
lord john. [With a sudden fatherly kindness.] Go to bed . . . you're dead tired. And good-bye . . . I'll be gone before you wake.
ann. Good-bye.
She shakes hands with him, then walks towards her father who is coming down the steps.
ann. Papa, don't my roses want looking to?
carnaby. [Pats her cheek.] These?
ann. Those.