You’ve hit it. Suttee. That’s the word.
Penelope.
But, darling, I should hate to grace your funeral by making a bonfire of myself.
Dickie.
Oh, you have no affection for me.
Penelope.
Lots, but that’s asking a great deal, isn’t it?
Dickie.
No, you don’t care for me as much as you used to. You’re quite different. I’ve noticed lots of things.
Penelope.