I was thinking about Mrs. Littlewood. She doesn’t give me the impression of being either callous or mad.

Sylvia.

What does she mean, then?

John.

[Reflectively.] I don’t know. [With a shrug of the shoulders, throwing off his mood.] And at the moment I don’t very much care. Come and sit down and be a comfort to a wounded hero.

Sylvia.

Idiot!

Mrs. Wharton.

Will you stay to luncheon, Sylvia dear?

Sylvia.