“No, no, Miss Dell has prepared her for anything! But you haven’t yet said if you will be my esquire into the country? Why are you so silent?”
“But, Iris, I don’t understand a word of this!”
“Sweet, do we need to wait on your understanding! Chivalry?”
“Away with that from me to you! You always chose the man’s part.”
“Gallantry?”
“But I shall be gallant to another in being ungallant to you!”
“You are driving me very hard, Iris. I do not want to say what is in my mind.”
“Can you stand there with your lips to the receiver, which I hope your servants keep clean for you, and tell me you are not my friend? Can you stand there facing me across Queen Street, Curzon Street, Hertford Street, Hamilton Place, Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, and tell me that you are not my friend? I am sitting here on the edge of the bed, in the next room is Mrs. Oden trying to pretend she is not listening to every word I say, all round me are trunks and boxes, about me is a leather jacket with a collar of a few minks, and on my head is one green hat. Are you not my friend? Answer me! Answer me, I say! Dear, a woman must have one friend! It is usual.”
“But the emerald is gone, Iris. So you are not the Iris I knew. You were Iris Storm, you are Iris March, and I never have met Iris March.”