AMY. 'I don't mean her--I mean her--' He decides that she is a little crazy. STEVE, soothingly, 'Come now, we won't go into that again. It was just a mistake; and now that it is all settled and done with, I'll tell you what we shall do. You will let me get you a cab--' She shakes her head. 'I promise not to listen to the address; and after you have had a good night you--you will see things differently.' AMY, ashamed of her momentary weakness, and deciding not to enter it in the diary, 'You are very clever, Mr. Stephen Rollo, but I don't leave this house without the letters.' STEVE, groaning, 'Are they your letters?' AMY. 'How dare you! They are the letters written to you, as you well know, by--' STEVE, eagerly, 'Yes?' AMY. '--by a certain lady. Spare me the pain, if you are a gentleman, of having to mention her name.' STEVE, sulkily, 'Oh, all right.' AMY. 'She is to pass out of your life to-night. To-morrow you go abroad for a long time.' STEVE, with excusable warmth, 'Oh, do I! Where am I going?' AMY. 'We thought--' STEVE. 'We?' AMY. 'A friend and I who have been talking it over. We thought of Africa--to shoot big game.' STEVE, humouring her, 'You must be very fond of this lady.' AMY. 'I would die for her.' STEVE, feeling that he ought really to stick up a little for himself, 'After all, am I so dreadful? Why shouldn't she love me?' AMY. 'A married woman!' STEVE, gratified, 'Married?' AMY. 'How can you play with me so, sir? She is my mother.'