JOAN. Shall I fetch John?
DOT. John!
CHRISTINE. Perhaps Harold knows.
JOAN. He went out with Studdenham.
DOT. It's always like this, women kept in blinkers. Rose-leaves and humbug! That awful old man!
JOAN. Dot!
CHRISTINE. Don't talk of father like that!
DOT. Well, he is! And Bill will be just like him at fifty! Heaven help Freda, whatever she's done! I'd sooner be a private in a German regiment than a woman.
JOAN. Dot, you're awful.
DOT. You-mouse-hearted-linnet!