Robertson: I regret, your lordship, I am no Nimrod.
Muir: No, but damme, sir, we can all admire a straight line. I like the lad.
Miss Taylor: It’s all very well, Lord Muir, but it’s most unbecoming to call a reverend gentleman a—h’m—blockhead.
Muir: A damned blockhead, ma’am, that’s the word.
Robertson (turning his back to him, addressing Miss Taylor): As I was remarking to you at luncheon, the history of pew-rents is very misleading—
[They drift into their own conversation.]
Muir (to Mrs. Montgomery, under his breath): That’s the kind of poetry I can understand.
Burns (to Mrs. Stewart): You did me great honour in your singing.
Mrs. Stewart: The songs are their own recommendation, Mr. Burns.
Burns: Sponsored by such beauty, madam, they could not fail.