VERNON. Dearest!
FANNY. I was only a music-hall singer. There’s no getting over it, you know.
VERNON. I should have loved you had you been a beggar-maid.
FANNY [she still clings to him]. With an uncle a costermonger, and an aunt who sold matches. It wouldn’t have made any difference to you, would it? You didn’t marry me for my family, did you? You didn’t, did you?
VERNON. Darling! I married you because you are the most fascinating, the most lovable, the most wonderful little woman in the world. [Fanny gives a sob.] As for your family—I’ve got a confession to make to you, dear. I made inquiries about your family before I proposed to you. Not for my own sake—because I knew I’d have to answer a lot of stupid questions. It seemed to me quite a good family.
FANNY. It is! Oh, it is! There never was such a respectable family. That’s why I never could get on with them.
VERNON [laughing]. Well, you haven’t got to—any more. We needn’t even let them know—
Bennet returns.
BENNET. Robert I find has returned. It is ten minutes to seven.
VERNON. Thanks. Well, I shall be glad of a bath. [He turns to Fanny.] Bennet will send your maid to you. [He whispers to her.] You’ll soon get used to it all. As for the confounded family—we will forget all about them. [Fanny answers with another little stifled sob. Bennet is drawing the curtains, his back to the room. Vernon, seeing that Bennet is occupied, kisses the unresponsive Fanny and goes out.]