He I tell you I shall not. Won’t anything make you understand that?
She. There, can’t you see? If you speak to me like that now, you’ll call me horrible names later, if I don’t do everything as you like. And if you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where should I go? I can’t trust you. Oh! I can’t trust you!
He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I’ve ample reason.
She. Please don’t, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me.
He. It isn’t exactly pleasant for me.
She. I can’t help it. I wish I were dead! I can’t trust you, and I don’t trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten!
He. Too late now. I don’t understand you I won’t and I can’t trust myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow?
She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my ‘rickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti’s. You ride.
He. I’ll go on to Peliti’s too. I think I want a drink. My world’s knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in the Old Library?
She. They’re rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can’t you hear Mrs. Buzgago’s voice? She has a solo. It’s quite a new idea. Listen!