STEVE. 'What woman?'

AMY. 'The woman who dined with you here this evening.'

STEVE. 'With me?'

AMY, icily, 'This is useless; as I have already said, the game is up.'

STEVE, glancing in a mirror to make sure he is still the same person,
'You _look_ a nice girl but dash it all. Whom can you be taking
me for? Tell me some more about myself.'

AMY. Please desist. I know everything, and in a way I am sorry for
you. All these years you have kept the marriage a secret, for she is a
horrid sort of woman, and now she has come back to blackmail you.
That, however, is not my affair.'

STEVE, with unexpected power of irony, 'Oh, I wouldn't say that.'

AMY. 'I do say it, Mr. Stephen Rollo. I shall keep your secret--'

STEVE. 'Ought you?'

AMY. '--on one condition, and on one condition only, that you return
me the letters.'

STEVE. 'The letters?'

AMY. 'The letters.'