With Mrs. Cortelyon--yes.

PAULA.

Mrs. Cortelyon! The woman who might have set the example of calling on me when we first threw out roots in this deadly-lively soil!

Deuce take Mrs. Cortelyon!

AUBREY.

Hush! my dear girl!

PAULA.

[_Returning to her seat._] Oh, I know she's an old acquaintance of yours--and of the first Mrs. Tanqueray. And she joins the rest of 'em in slapping the second Mrs. Tanqueray in the face. However, I have my revenge--she's six-and-forty, and I wish nothing worse to happen to any woman.

AUBREY.

Well, she's going to town, Cayley says here, and his visit's at an end. He's coming over this morning to call on you. Shall we ask him to transfer himself to us? Do say yes.

PAULA.

Yes.

AUBREY.

[_Gladly._] Ah, ha! old Cayley!

PAULA.

[_Coldly._] He'll amuse _you_.

AUBREY.

And you too.

PAULA.

Because you find a companion, shall I be boisterously hilarious?

AUBREY.

Come, come! He talks London, and you know you like that.

PAULA.

London! London or Heaven! which is farther from me!

AUBREY.

Paula!

PAULA.

Oh! Oh, I am so bored, Aubrey!

AUBREY.

[_Gathering up his letters and going to her, leaning over her shoulder._] Baby, what can I do for you?

PAULA.

I suppose, nothing. You have done all you can for me.

AUBREY.

What do you mean?

PAULA.

You have married me.

[_He walks away from her thoughtfully, to the writing-table.

As he places his letters on the table he sees an addressed letter, stamped for the post, lying on the blotting-book; he picks it up._

AUBREY.

[_In an altered tone._] You've been writing this Morning before breakfast?

PAULA.

[_Looking at him quickly, then away again._] Er--that letter.

AUBREY.

[_With the letter in his hand._] To Lady Orreyed. Why?

PAULA.

Why not? Mabel's an old friend of mine.

AUBREY.

Are you--corresponding?

PAULA.

I heard from her yesterday. They've just returned from the Riviera.

She seems happy.