‘You must learn me that,’ and off she goes in song also:
‘Mrs. Dowey’s very ill,
Nothing can improve her.’
‘Stop!’ cries clever Kenneth, and finishes the verse:
‘But dressed up in a Paris gown
To waddle through the Louvre.’
They fling back their heads, she points at him, he points at her. She says ecstatically:
‘Hairy legs!’
A mad remark, which brings him to his senses; he remembers who and what she is.
‘Mind your manners!’ Rising, ‘Well, thank you for my tea. I must be stepping.’