STEVE. ‘And when I found that at my dinner hour you were subject to growing pains I remembered my own youth. Potatoes, madam?’
RICHARDSON, neatly, ‘If quite convenient.’
The kindly young man surveys her for some time in silence while she has various happy adventures.
STEVE. ‘Can I smoke, Richardson?’
RICHARDSON. ‘Of course you can smoke. I have often seen you smoking.’
STEVE, little aware of what an evening the sex is to give him, ‘But have I your permission?’
RICHARDSON. ‘You’re at your tricks again.’
STEVE, severely, ‘Have you forgotten already how I told you a true lady would answer?’
RICHARDSON. ‘I minds, but it makes me that shy.’ She has, however, a try at it. ‘Do smoke, Mr. Rollo, I loves the smell of it.’
Steve lights his pipe; no real villain smokes a pipe.