. . . to . . . I don't know myself . . . he deserves . . . to . . . to
Dominica—To be kissed!
Hyacinth—Yes, that is just what happened to him. [Sinks weakly into a chair; mops his brow; murmurs to himself.] I thought she'd never say it.
Dominica—[Taken aback.] Eh?. . . What happened to him?
Hyacinth—Just what you said. Alexandra kissed him.
Dominica—Alexandra?
Hyacinth—As you said.
Dominica—I? Yes. Um, yes.
Hyacinth—After Albert insulted him she couldn't stand by and see him suffer any longer. She kissed him, in mine and Albert's presence.
Dominica—And what did Albert do?
Hyacinth—How could he, poor chap, understand what was going on? Naturally, he didn't see it all as clearly as you see it now.
Dominica—[Without conviction.] I? Yes . . . yes . . . of course.
Hyacinth—And Beatrice . . . who is such a stickler for form . . . sits here worrying herself almost to death [turns to Beatrice] about something which Dominica, as you see, finds perfectly natural, yes, almost inevitable. Isn't it so?
