"And I'm afraid I can't—not yet, at least. And when I do, I ought to warn you, the chances are I shan't decide the way you want me to."
"I know. But don't worry about me. I can take punishment, I've proved that, I think. So do what seems best to you. I'll faithfully follow your lead. I only want to play the game."
"And I.... But we both want to be sure it's worth the scandal, don't we, Dobbin?"
"You joke about what's life and death to me!"
"I did it on purpose, old dear." Lucinda tapped his arm intimately with her fan. "Yes, I did. I don't want you to think, afterwards—if it turns out so you'd be tempted to think it—that I didn't, as you say, play fair. So it's only fair to let you find out as soon as possible that I'm an incurably frivolous person, Dobbin, vain, trifling, flippant, and—I'm afraid—a flirt."
"Not you!"
"Truly. Haven't I been letting you believe I made myself pretty tonight for your sake? It isn't true, at least not all true. It was for my own sake, really, because we're going to the opera, and everybody I know will see me there, and I want them to know what Bel neglects for his—other women!"
From the doorway an unctuous voice announced: "Dinner is served, madam."