[Meditatively.] I wonder if you’d despise us so much if you had a string of drunken, fox-hunting squires behind you.
Grace.
Oh, my dear, when I was first married I used to lie awake at night wishing for them with all my heart. When the neighbours came to call on me I could see them obviously lying in wait for the aitches they were expecting me to drop. A Miss Robinson, wasn’t she? Robinson! Are there people called Robinson? Oh, how I wanted to scratch their ugly old faces!
Miss Vernon.
How lucky I was abroad for so long! You might have disfigured me for life.
Grace.
I’ve often thought that if the Archangel Gabriel came down in Somersetshire, they’d look him out in the “Landed Gentry” before they asked him to a shooting-party.
Miss Vernon.
I don’t think you ought to judge us all on Mrs. Insoley. She’s a type that’s dying out.
Edith.