No.
PHILIP. Well come, Dolly: how do you know you're not?
DOLLY (cheered). Oh, I forgot. Of course. Perhaps I am.
VALENTINE. Don't you know?
PHILIP. Not in the least.
DOLLY. It's a wise child ---
PHILIP (cutting her short). Sh! (Valentine starts nervously; for
the sound made by Philip, though but momentary, is like cutting a sheet
of silk in two with a flash of lightning. It is the result of long
practice in checking Dolly's indiscretions.) The fact is, Mr.
Valentine, we are the children of the celebrated Mrs. Lanfrey Clandon,
an authoress of great repute - in Madeira. No household is complete
without her works. We came to England to get away from them. The are
called the Twentieth Century Treatises.
DOLLY. Twentieth Century Cooking.
PHILIP. Twentieth Century Creeds.
DOLLY. Twentieth Century Clothing.
PHILIP. Twentieth Century Conduct.
DOLLY. Twentieth Century Children.
PHILIP. Twentieth Century Parents.
DOLLY. Cloth limp, half a dollar.
PHILIP. Or mounted on linen for hard family use, two dollars. No
family should be without them. Read them, Mr. Valentine: they'll
improve your mind.
DOLLY. But not till we've gone, please.
PHILIP. Quite so: we prefer people with unimproved minds. Our own
minds are in that fresh and unspoiled condition.
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