LUCAS. [An alteration in his manner.] Oh--ho, that idea! What--what
has she been saying to you?

ST. OLPHERTS. Incidentally she pitched into me, dear Lucas; she
attacked my moral character. You must have been telling tales.

LUCAS. Oh, I--I hope not. Of course, we--

ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, yes--a little family gossip, to pass the time while
she has been dressing her hair or--By the bye, she doesn't appear to
spend much time in dressing her hair.

LUCAS. [Biting his lip.] Really?

ST. OLPHERTS. Then she denounced the gilded aristocracy generally. Our
day is over; we're broken wooden dolls, and are going to be chucked.
The old tune; but I enjoyed the novelty of being so near the
instrument. I assure you, dear fellow, I was within three feet of her
when she deliberately Trafalgar Squared me.

LUCAS. [With an uneasy laugh.] You're the red rag, Duke. This spirit of
revolt in her--it's ludicrously extravagant; but it will die out in
time, when she has become used to being happy and cared for--[partly
to himself, with clenched hands]--yes, cared for.

ST. OLPHERTS. Die out? Bred in the bone, dear Lucas.

LUCAS. On some topics she's a mere echo of her father, if you mean
that?