Paul. You drink port, don't you, madam?
Laskowski (affectionately). If you don't care for it, dearie, I drink for you.
Antoinette. You may pour me one glass. (She holds out her glass, which Paul fills.)
Laskowski You're sure it won't hurt you, dearie?
Antoinette. Why should it? I drink on other occasions.
Laskowski. Because you are always getting a headache.
Antoinette (looks at him). I?
Laskowski. Now don't get mad right off! Can't a fellow crack a joke? Don't you see that it's a joke? Drink ahead, dearie! I'm drinking too. And then I must be going too.
Paul (who has filled all the glasses). Must you; where?
Laskowski (raises his glass and empties it). Of a forenoon, there's nothing up to a glass of port.