Lady Francis.

My dear, if I told you that I was most unwarrantably distorting the truth.

Etchingham.

[Irritably correcting himself.] In a ball dress, with an opera cloak on—without her luggage, without even a dressing-case—and informs you that she’s left her husband.... It’s absurd.

Lady Francis.

Quite absurd. And so unnecessarily dramatic.

Etchingham.

And when’s she going home?

Lady Francis.

She assures me that she’s not going home.