mrs. voysey. They haven't separated.
booth. But they mean to.
mrs. voysey. Fiddle-de-dee!
booth. I quite agree with you.
beatrice. [with a charming smile.] This reasoning would convert a stone.
booth. Why have I not been told?
beatrice. You have just been told.
booth. [thunderously.] Before.
beatrice. The truth is, dear Booth, we're all so afraid of you.
booth. [a little mollified.] Ha . . I should be glad to think that.