No. I thought that was a pleasing piece of information which I'd leave you to impart.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Thanks!
DICK.
She's only coming to indulge a truly feminine passion for making scenes, and she's made Alec quite wretched enough already. Why doesn't she marry Robert Boulger?
MRS. CROWLEY.
Why should she?
DICK.
Half the women I know merely married their husbands to spite somebody else. It appears to be one of the commonest causes of matrimony.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_With a quizzical look at him._] Talking of which, what are you going to do when Mr. Mackenzie is gone?
DICK.
Talking of the weather and the crops, I propose to go to Spain.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Opening her eyes wide._] How very extraordinary! I thought of going there, too.
DICK.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, I shall go to Norway.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It'll be dreadfully cold.
DICK.
Dreadfully. But I shall be supported by the consciousness of having done my duty.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You don't think there would be room for both of us in Spain?
DICK.
I'm convinced there wouldn't. We should always be running against one another, and you'd insist on my looking out all your trains in Bradshaw.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I hope you remember that you asked me to tea to-day?
DICK.
Pardon me, you asked yourself. I keep the letter next to my heart and put it under my pillow every night.
MRS. CROWLEY.
You fibber! Besides, if I did, it was only on Lucy's account.
DICK.
That, I venture to think, is neither polite nor accurate.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't think I should so utterly detest you, if you hadn't such a good opinion of yourself.
DICK.
You forget that I vowed on the head of my maternal grandmother never to speak to you again.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Oh, I'm always doing that. I tell my maid that time she does my hair badly.
DICK.
You trifled with the tenderest affection of an innocent and unsophisticated old bachelor.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Is that you by any chance?
DICK.
Of course, it's me. D'you think I was talking of the man in the moon?
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Looking at him critically._] With the light behind, you might still pass for thirty-five.
DICK.
I've given up youth and its vanities. I no longer pluck out my white hairs.
MRS. CROWLEY.