LADY TORMINSTER.  You are in your whimsical mood.

SIR GEOFFREY.  And you in your wrapper—­peignoir—­tea gown—­it don’t matter what you call it.  You look—­jolly.  Ridiculous word—­I don’t mean that at all.  You look—­you.  More you than I’ve seen you for years.  Sh—­don’t interrupt.  Shades never do that.  By the way, do you know that the old lumber-room, my owner—­my corporeal sheath—­means to go away in the morning, before you are up?

LADY TORMINSTER.  Sir Geoffrey!  What nonsense!  You’ve promised to stay a month!

SIR GEOFFREY.  I assure you I have been charged to invent fitting and appropriate lies to account for the ridiculous creature’s abrupt departure.  The man Transom is a poor liar.

LADY TORMINSTER.  You are making me giddy.  Would you mind putting on your body?  I’ve not been introduced to your soul.

SIR GEOFFREY. [Springing up with a flourish.] How very remiss of me!  Permit me.  Gertrude this is Geoffrey.  You have often heard me speak of him.

LADY TORMINSTER. [Rising.] I think I’ll go to bed.

SIR GEOFFREY.  Now that is preposterous.  Jack, my dear old friend—­the best and only friend I have in the world—­is slumbering peacefully upstairs, and Jack’s wife is reluctant to talk to Jack’s old pal because the sun happens to be hidden on the other side of the globe.  Lady Torminster, sit down.  If you’re good you shall have a cigarette.

LADY TORMINSTER. [Sitting.] Well, just one.  And when I’ve finished it, I’ll go.

SIR GEOFFREY.  Agreed.

     [He hands her the box; she takes a cigarette; he strikes a match
     and holds it for her; he then takes a cigarette himself, and
     lights it.

SIR GEOFFREY.  And, while smoking it, remember Penelope’s web.  For I’ve heaps of things to tell you.

LADY TORMINSTER.  They’ll keep till to-morrow.

SIR GEOFFREY.  That’s a fearful delusion.  Nothing keeps.  There is one law in the universe:  NOW.

LADY TORMINSTER.  I want to know what you mean by this nonsense about your going.

SIR GEOFFREY. [Puffing out smoke.] Yes—­I’m off in the morning.  It has occurred to me that I haven’t been to China.  Now that is a serious omission.  How can I face my forefathers, and confess to them that I haven’t seen the land where the Yellow Labour comes from?

LADY TORMINSTER.  China has waited a long time—­a month more or less will make no difference.  They are a patient race.

SIR GEOFFREY.  There is gipsy blood in my veins—­I must wander—­I’m restless....  Not like Jack—­he’s untroubled—­he can sleep.  Jack’s a fine sleeper, isn’t he?

LADY TORMINSTER.  Yes.

SIR GEOFFREY.  Calm, serene, untroubled, with the conscience of a babe—­one, two, three, he sleeps.  He and I have had some rare times together.  I’ve been roped to him on the Andes—­he shot a tiger that was about to scrunch me—­I rubbed his nose when it was frost-bitten.  He saved my life—­I saved his nose.  I always maintain that the balance of gratitude is on his side—­for where would he have been without his nose?