LADY F. A woman of thirty—my age! Understand, sir, that no woman cares to be reminded of her age when she is turned thirty, any more than that she wears false hair! Your remark, therefore, is scarcely polite; but with your wife it appears you consider no such politeness necessary!
SIR F. Politeness! My dear Grace, what is politeness, after all?—merely the gloss of society! I suppose you’ll admit that the shiny stuff they put on the top of the buns doesn’t make them taste any the sweeter?
LADY F. Spare me your absurd similes, and don’t mistake flippancy for wit!
SIR F. (aside). That’s a dig in the ribs for me! (Aloud.) But we are wandering from our subject! Do you think Myrtle loves Vallance at all?
LADY F. I fancy she likes him well enough!
SIR F. “Well enough” won’t do! She must like him a great deal better—as I believe she would if we could only make her just a little bit jealous!
LADY F. Perhaps so—but how? My lady’s-maid is no beauty! The house-maid’s no chicken! The cook’s too fat! And there’s no one else!
SIR F. No, exactly! (Here LADY FRITTERLY turns and goes up stage.) Are you going out this morning?
LADY F. Yes, unless you wish for the pleasure of my society here!
SIR F. Well, it would be a novelty!