Lady Kitty. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world.
C.-C. You’re incorrigible. Do you really think it was worth sacrificing so much for?
Lady Kitty. My dear Clive, I don’t mind telling you that if I had my time over again I should be unfaithful to you, but I should not leave you.
C.-C. For some years I was notoriously the prey of a secret sorrow. But I found so many charming creatures who were anxious to console that in the end it grew rather fatiguing. Out of regard to my health I ceased to frequent the drawing-rooms of Mayfair.
Lady Kitty. And since then?
C.-C. Since then I have allowed myself the luxury of assisting financially a succession of dear little things, in a somewhat humble sphere, between the ages of twenty and twenty-five.
Lady Kitty. I cannot understand the infatuation of men for young girls. I think they’re so dull.
C.-C. It’s a matter of taste. I love old wine, old friends and old books, but I like young women. On their twenty-fifth birthday I give them a diamond ring and tell them they must no longer waste their youth and beauty on an old fogey like me. We have a most affecting scene, my technique on these occasions is perfect, and then I start all over again.
Lady Kitty. You’re a wicked old man, Clive.
C.-C. That’s what I told you. But, by George! I’m a happy one.