Agi—Yes, father.
Alexandra—A tragic moment like that . . . and you call it a kindly little kiss!
Hyacinth—[To Agi.] You have your athletic habits to thank for this wisdom, this healthy clarity of judgment.
Alexandra—And the things he said yesterday . . . about his life and his death and his immortality. . . . Were they all untrue?
Hyacinth—Don't you see? Sudden anguish seeks expression in the strongest language. That is why common people, for instance, become profane in such moments.
Alexandra—Is that all it meant?
Hyacinth—All? That is a great deal, my daughter, for it manifests a profound sorrow. An exclamation of pain, as it were, in which the words are not important.
Alexandra—Which of his words shall I believe then?
Hyacinth—The ones he leaves unspoken now. [A brief pause.] Well, and you, my daughter? Now! Be candid.
Alexandra—I, Hyacinth?. . . If I am to be candid, I believe I love him a little. [Puts her head on his shoulder.]
Hyacinth—I myself thought you loved him . . . until you kissed him.
