[Nervously.] Well—er—I think it would be much better if we—put the trip to Paris off for a bit.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Gasping with anger.] Oh! Oh! Oh!
Dickie.
Penelope’s so blindly confident.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I’ll never speak to you again. I wish I had never met you. Oh, how can you insult me like this!
[She begins to sob.
Dickie.
Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! I say, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be horrid. I’m awfully sorry.