GEORGE. I don't want to discuss it. There's never anything in particular. We're all anyhow, as you know.
LADY DEDMOND. I see. [She looks shrewdly at her son] My dear, I should be rather careful about him, I think.
SIR CHARLES. Who's that?
LADY DEDMOND. That Mr. Malise.
SIR CHARLES. Oh! That chap!
GEORGE. Clare isn't that sort.
LADY DEDMOND. I know. But she catches up notions very easily. I think it's a great pity you ever came across him.
SIR CHARLES. Where did you pick him up?
GEORGE. Italy—this Spring—some place or other where they couldn't speak English.
SIR CHARLES. Um! That's the worst of travellin'.