GINEVRA. ‘No letters; how unlike life. You are quite sure?’
AMY. ‘I have my mother’s word for it.’
GINEVRA. ‘Is that enough?’
AMY. ‘And you now have mine.’
GINEVRA. ‘Then it hadn’t gone far?’
AMY. ‘No, merely a painful indiscretion. But if father had known it—you know what husbands are.’
GINEVRA. ‘Yes, indeed. Did he follow her?’
Amy nods. ‘Did you hide?’ Amy nods again.
AMY. ‘Worse than that, Ginevra. To deceive him I had to pretend that I was the woman. And now—Ginevra, can you guess?—’ Here they have to leave off doing noses. On the stage it can be done for ever so much longer, but only by those who are paid accordingly.
GINEVRA. ‘You don’t mean—?’