ALBERT. I don't understand.
JACQUES. Henriette is a singular woman; to get her, you have to tell her that you don't like her—her pride demands it. Tell her all her bad qualities, straight from the shoulder.
ALBERT. [Feeling himself equal to the task.] Don't worry about that! [Rises and walks about.] I know women love to be told things straight out.
JACQUES. I'm not the man for that; nor are you, I suppose?
ALBERT. No? Jacques, I'm awfully obliged to you; you've done me a good turn——
JACQUES, Don't mention it——
ALBERT. You want to do me one more favor?
JACQUES. [Devotedly.] Anything you like!
ALBERT. Promise me you'll never let Henrietta know that you told me this?
JACQUES. I promise; but why?