JOHN. It's very good of you to say so.
COMTESSE. But we must run. Bon soir.
[SYBIL bows as to some one far away.]
JOHN. Good-night, Lady Sybil. I hear you think I'm vulgar. [Eyebrows
are raised.]
COMTESSE. My dear Mr. Shand, what absurd---
JOHN. I was told she said that after hearing me speak.
COMTESSE. Quite a mistake, I---
JOHN [doggedly]. Is it not true?
SYBIL ['waking up']. You seem to know, Mr. Shand; and as you press me
so unnecessarily--well, yes, that is how you struck me.
COMTESSE. My child!
SYBIL [who is a little agitated]. He would have it.
JOHN [perplexed]. What's the matter? I just wanted to know, because
if it's true I must alter it.
COMTESSE. There, Sybil, see how he values your good opinion.
SYBIL [her svelte figure giving like a fishing-rod]. It is very nice
of you to put it in that way, Mr. Shand. Forgive me.
JOHN. But I don't quite understand yet. Of course, it can't matter to
me, Lady Sybil, what you think of me; what I mean is, that I mustn't
be vulgar if it would be injurious to my career.
[The fishing-rod regains its rigidity.]
SYBIL. I see. No, of course, I could not affect your career, Mr
Shand.
JOHN [who quite understands that he is being challenged]. That's so,
Lady Sybil, meaning no offence.
SYBIL [who has a naughty little impediment in her voice when she is
most alluring].
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