Porteous. Not a bit.
Lady Kitty. It’s very good stuff I use now. They don’t stick together either.
Porteous. Look here, Kitty, how much longer do you want to stay here?
Lady Kitty. Oh, I’m quite ready to go whenever you like.
Porteous. Clive gets on my nerves. I don’t like the way he keeps hanging about you.
Lady Kitty. [Surprised, rather amused, and delighted.] Hughie, you don’t mean to say you’re jealous of poor Clive?
Porteous. Of course I’m not jealous of him, but he does look at you in a way that I can’t help thinking rather objectionable.
Lady Kitty. Hughie, you may throw me downstairs like Amy Robsart; you may drag me about the floor by the hair of my head; I don’t care, you’re jealous. I shall never grow old.
Porteous. Damn it all, the man was your husband.
Lady Kitty. My dear Hughie, he never had your style. Why, the moment you come into a room everyone looks and says: “Who the devil is that?”