Lady Frederick.
I don't know why you should squeeze my hands all the time.
Fouldes.
But it isn't. Look here, don't you get awfully tired of racketting about?
Lady Frederick.
Oh, my dear friend, I'm sick to death of it. I've got half a mind to retire from the world and bury myself in a hermitage.
Fouldes.
So have I, and I've bought the lease of a little house in Norfolk Street, Park Lane.
Lady Frederick.
Just the place for a hermitage—fashionable without being vulgar.