SYBIL [‘waking up’]. You seem to know, Mr. Shand; and as you press me so unnecessarily—well, yes, that is how you struck me.
COMTESSE. My child!
SYBIL [who is a little agitated]. He would have it.
JOHN [perplexed]. What’s the matter? I just wanted to know, because if it’s true I must alter it.
COMTESSE. There, Sybil, see how he values your good opinion.
SYBIL [her svelte figure giving like a fishing-rod]. It is very nice of you to put it in that way, Mr. Shand. Forgive me.
JOHN. But I don’t quite understand yet. Of course, it can’t matter to me, Lady Sybil, what you think of me; what I mean is, that I mustn’t be vulgar if it would be injurious to my career.
[The fishing-rod regains its rigidity.]
SYBIL. I see. No, of course, I could not affect your career, Mr Shand.
JOHN [who quite understands that he is being challenged]. That’s so, Lady Sybil, meaning no offence.