I'm afraid my nerves were a little upset by our
conversation. I just went into the garden and had a smoke. I'm
all right now [he strolls down to the study door and presently
takes a chair at that end of the big table].
MRS GEORGE. A smoke! Why, you said she couldnt bear it.
THE GENERAL. Good heavens! I forgot! It's such a natural thing to
do, somehow.
Lesbia comes in through the tower.
MRS GEORGE. He's been smoking again.
LESBIA. So my nose tells me. [She goes to the end of the table
nearest the hearth, and sits down].
THE GENERAL. Lesbia: I'm very sorry. But if I gave it up, I
should become so melancholy and irritable that you would be the
first to implore me to take to it again.
MRS GEORGE. Thats true. Women drive their husbands into all sorts
of wickedness to keep them in good humor. Sinjon: be off with
you: this doesnt concern you.
LESBIA. Please dont disturb yourself, Sinjon. Boxer's broken
heart has been worn on his sleeve too long for any pretence of
privacy.
THE GENERAL. You are cruel, Lesbia: devilishly cruel. [He sits
down, wounded].
LESBIA. You are vulgar, Boxer.
HOTCHKISS. In what way? I ask, as an expert in vulgarity.
LESBIA. In two ways. First, he talks as if the only thing of any
importance in life was which particular woman he shall marry.
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