That boy will make his way in this country. He has no sense
of humour. (Grace comes in. Her dress, very convenient and
businesslike, is made to please herself and serve her own purposes
without the slightest regard to fashion, though by no means without a
careful concern for her personal elegance. She enters briskly, like an
habitually busy woman.)
SYLVIA (running to her). Here you are at last Tranfield, old girl.
I've been waiting for you this last hour. I'm starving.
GRACE. All right, dear. (To Charteris.) Did you get my letter?
CHARTERIS. Yes. I wish you wouldn't write on those confounded blue
letter cards.
SYLVIA (to Grace). Shall I go down first and secure a table?
CHARTERIS (taking the reply out of Grace's mouth). Do, old boy.
SYLVIA. Don't be too long. (She goes into the dining room.)
GRACE. Well?
CHARTERIS. I'm afraid to face you after last night. Can you imagine a
more horrible scene? Don't you hate the very sight of me after it?
GRACE. Oh, no.
CHARTERIS. Then you ought to. Ugh! it was hideous--an insult--an
outrage. A nice end to all my plans for making you happy--for making
you an exception to all the women who swear I have made them
miserable!
GRACE (sitting down placidly).
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