AMY, with a consciousness that he might once upon a time have been saved by a good woman, ‘I suppose that is how you got round her.’
STEVE, stamping his foot, ‘Haven’t I told you that she doesn’t exist?’
AMY. ‘I don’t mean her—I mean her—’
He decides that she is a little crazy.
STEVE, soothingly, ‘Come now, we won’t go into that again. It was just a mistake; and now that it is all settled and done with, I’ll tell you what we shall do. You will let me get you a cab—’ She shakes her head. ‘I promise not to listen to the address; and after you have had a good night you—you will see things differently.’
AMY, ashamed of her momentary weakness, and deciding not to enter it in the diary, ‘You are very clever, Mr. Stephen Rollo, but I don’t leave this house without the letters.’
STEVE, groaning, ‘Are they your letters?’
AMY. ‘How dare you! They are the letters written to you, as you well know, by—’
STEVE, eagerly, ‘Yes?’
AMY. ‘—by a certain lady. Spare me the pain, if you are a gentleman, of having to mention her name.’