Capt. G. (brutally, touching shirt-stud).—So far as the expression goes. (Aside.) It isn't in her nature to take things quietly. There'll be an explosion yet.
Mrs. H. (with a shudder).—Thank you. B-but Red Indians allow people to wriggle when they're being tortured, I believe. (Slips fan from girdle, and fans slowly; rim of fan level with chin.)
Partner on Left.—Very close tonight, isn't it? 'You find it too much for you?
Mrs. H.—Oh, no, not in the least. But they really ought to have punkahs, even in your cool Naini Tal, oughtn't they? (Turns, dropping fan and raising eyebrows.)
Capt. G.—It's all right. (Aside.) Here comes the storm!
Mrs. H. (her eyes on the tablecloth; fan ready in right hand).—It was very cleverly managed, Pip; and I congratulate you. You swore—you never contented yourself with merely saying a thing—you swore that, as far as lay in your power, you'd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And you've denied me the consolation of breaking down. I should have done it—indeed I should. A woman would hardly have thought of this refinement, my kind, considerate friend. (Fan-guard, as before.) You have explained things so tenderly and truthfully, too! You haven't spoken or written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the last minute. You haven't condescended to give me your reason yet. No! A woman could not have managed it half so well. Are there many men like you in the world?
Capt. G.—I'm sure I don't know. (To butler.) Ohé! Champagne.
Mrs. H.—You call yourself a man of the world, don't you? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they do a woman the honour to get tired of her?
Capt. G.—I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud.
Mrs. H.—Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens! Don't be afraid of my compromising you. You've chosen
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