Geoffrey. (Beginning to guess.) Forgive my impatience; but whom have you selected?
Elizabeth. (When she likes she can be quite sweet.) Your wife. (He expected it.) We rather assumed (she appeals to the others with a gesture), I think, that the president of the Man’s League for the Extension of the Franchise to Women would regard it as a compliment.
Geoffrey. (His dislike of her is already in existence.) Yes. Very thoughtful.
Annys. You must choose some one else.
Phoebe. But there is no one else.
Annys. There’s mamma.
Phoebe. Mamma’s too heavy.
Annys. Well, then, there’s Elizabeth—there’s you!
Geoffrey. Yes. Why not you? You and I could have a jolly little fight.
Lady Mogton. This is not a laughing matter. If I could think of any one to take Annys’s place I should not insist. I cannot.