We'll
have a bit of dinner; ring up your maid; get her to meet you with some
things, and go off by the night mail. Scotland--anywhere you like. Let
the whole business simmer down a bit. We don't want any melodramatic
eighteenth-century nonsense.
KATE. Go out now, and not wait for him to have _his_ five minutes?
NORWOOD (impatiently). What does he _want_ with five minutes? What's
the _good_ of it to him? Just to take a pathetic farewell of you, and
pretend that you've ruined his life, when all the time he's chuckling
in his sleeve at having got rid of you so easily. _I_ know these young
fellows. Some Major's wife in India is what _he's_ got his eye on. . . .
Or else he'll try fooling around with the hands-up business. You don't
want to be mixed up with any scandal of _that_ sort. No, the best
thing we can do--I'm speaking for _your_ sake, Kate--is to slip off
quietly, while we've got the chance. We can _write_ and explain all
that we want to explain.
KATE (looking wonderingly at him--another man whom she doesn't know).
Is that playing quite fair to Dennis?
NORWOOD. Good Lord, this isn't a game! Camberley may think so with his
tossing-up and all the rest of it, but you and I aren't children.
Everything's fair in a case like this.
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