Mrs. Fergusson.
We haven’t met for ages, have we?
Dickie.
Simply ages.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I passed you in Piccadilly the other day, and you cut me dead.
Dickie.
I’m so sorry, I’m so short-sighted.
Penelope.
Dickie, you’re not at all short-sighted. How can you tell such fibs?