Oh lord, I wish I were eighteen.
[She sinks into a chair, and an expression of utter weariness comes over her face.
Gerald.
I say, what's up?
Lady Frederick.
[Starting.] I thought you'd gone. Nothing.
Gerald.
Come, out with it.
Lady Frederick.
Oh, my poor boy, if you only knew. I'm so worried that I don't know what on earth to do.