AMY, in italics, ‘There is no mistake.’
STEVE. ‘Then is there anything I can do for you?’
AMY, ardently, ‘You can do so much.’
STEVE. ‘Perhaps if you will sit down—’
Amy decides to humour him so far. She would like to sit in the lovely stage way, when they know so precisely where the chair is that they can sit without a glance at it. But she dare not, though Ginevra would have risked it. Steve is emboldened to say: ‘By the way, you have not told me your name.’
AMY, nervously, ‘If you please, do you mind my not telling it?’
STEVE. ‘Oh, very well.’ First he thinks there is something innocent about her request, and then he wonders if ‘innocent’ is the right word. ‘Well, your business, please?’ he demands, like the man of the world he hopes some day to be.
AMY. ‘Why are you not in evening dress?’
STEVE, taken aback, ‘Does that matter?’
AMY, though it still worries her, ‘I suppose not.’