Lady Corinthia.  Your advances are useless.  I—­

Mitchener.  Confound it, madam, can you not receive an innocent compliment without suspecting me of dishonorable intentions?

Lady Corinthia.  Love—­real love—­makes all intentions honorable.  But you could never understand that.

Mitchener.  Ill not submit to the vulgar penny-novelette notion that an officer is less honorable than a civilian in his relations with women.  While I live Ill raise my voice—­

Lady Corinthia.  Tush!

Mitchener.  What do you mean by tush?

Lady Corinthia.  You cant raise your voice above its natural compass.  What sort of voice have you?

Mitchener.  A tenor.  What sort had you?

Lady Corinthia.  Had?  I have it still.  I tell you I am the highest living soprano. (Scornfully.) What was your highest note, pray?

Mitchener.  B flat—­once—­in 1879.  I was drunk at the time.

Lady Corinthia (gazing at him almost tenderly).  Though you may not believe me, I find you are more interesting when you talk about music than when you are endeavoring to betray a woman who has trusted you by remaining alone with you in your apartment.

Mitchener (springing up and fuming away to the fireplace).  These repeated insults to a man of blameless life are as disgraceful to you as they are undeserved by me, Lady Corinthia.  Such suspicions invite the conduct they impute. (She raises the pistol.) You need not be alarmed:  I am only going to leave the room.

Lady Corinthia.  Fish.

Mitchener.  Fish!  This is worse than tush.  Why fish?

Lady Corinthia.  Yes, fish:  coldblooded fish.

Mitchener.  Dash it all, madam, do you want me to make advances to you?

Lady Corinthia.  I have not the slightest intention of yielding to them; but to make them would be a tribute to romance.  What is life without romance?

Mitchener (making a movement toward her).  I tell you—­

Lady Corinthia.  Stop.  No nearer.  No vulgar sensuousness.  If you must adore, adore at a distance.

Mitchener.  This is worse than Mrs. Banger.  I shall ask that estimable woman to come back.

Lady Corinthia.  Poor Mrs. Banger!  Do not for a moment suppose, General Mitchener, that Mrs. Banger represents my views on the suffrage question.  Mrs. Banger is a man in petticoats.  I am every inch a woman; but I find it convenient to work with her.

Mitchener.  Do you find the combination comfortable?

Lady Corinthia.  I do not wear combinations, General:  (with dignity) they are unwomanly.

Mitchener (throwing himself despairingly into the chair next the hearthrug).  I shall go mad.  I never for a moment dreamt of alluding to anything of the sort.