(Dolly furtively looks at her own shoe: Valentine
catches her in the act, and deftly adds) No, that's not the sort of
boot I mean. (Dolly's shoe vanishes.) We don't bother much about dress
and manners in England, because, as a nation we don't dress well and
we've no manners. But - and now will you excuse my frankness? (They
nod.) Thank you. Well, in a seaside resort there's one thing you must
have before anybody can afford to be seen going about with you; and
that's a father, alive or dead. (He looks at them alternately, with
emphasis. They meet his gaze like martyrs.) Am I to infer that you
have omitted that indispensable part of your social equipment? (They
confirm him by melancholy nods.) Them I'm sorry to say that if you are
going to stay here for any length of time, it will be impossible for me
to accept your kind invitation to lunch. (He rises with an air of
finality, and replaces the stool by the bench.)
PHILIP (rising with grave politeness). Come, Dolly. (He gives her
his arm.)
DOLLY. Good morning. (They go together to the door with perfect
dignity.)
VALENTINE (overwhelmed with remorse). Oh, stop, stop. (They halt
and turn, arm in arm.) You make me feel a perfect beast.
DOLLY. That's your conscience: not us.
VALENTINE (energetically, throwing off all pretence of a professional
manner).
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