I didn't. He insisted on coming—when I said I had to fetch you.
Mabel.
Perhaps he came to see me.
John.
Fiddledidee! I think you ought to speak to Hilda about it.
Mabel.
My dear John, are you mad? She'd jump down my throat.
John.
Why does she let him hang about her? She must know she's turning his silly head.
Mabel.