Act I

But, Mother darling, don’t you see, it’s awfully undignified for you to go flaunting about with young men?

I don’t flaunt about⁠—I never have. I’ve been morally an extremely nice woman all my life⁠—more or less⁠—and if dabbling gives me pleasure, I don’t see why I shouldn’t dabble.

But it oughtn’t to give you pleasure any more.

You know, Sorel, you grow more damnably feminine every day. I wish I’d brought you up differently.

I’m proud of being feminine.

You’re a darling, and I adore you; and you’re very pretty, and I’m madly jealous of you.

Are you really? How lovely.

You will be nice to Sandy, won’t you?

Can’t he sleep in “Little Hell”?