[With a chuckle.] Nonsense. You were so taken with the dramatic gesture of leaving the house in a pink satin opera cloak that you forgot all about it.
Catherine.
There’s nothing in any of my letters that I’m ashamed of.
George Winter.
Would you like to look at this one?
Catherine.
[Refusing to take it.] I know that there can be absolutely no harm in it.
George Winter.
I wonder what a clever counsel would make of it. I can imagine it read in such a manner that those vague words should gather form and substance. A little irony, a grotesque emphasis here and there, and I can see the junior bar rolling with laughter. I don’t imagine a parliamentary light like your friend Robert Colby would take ridicule very well. It’s only by his entire lack of humour that he’s risen to the exalted position he now adorns.
Catherine.