making their fathers take them to
plays that are not fit for elderly people to see.

FANNY. Oh, I know all about that; but you cant understand what it means
to Papa. Youre not so innocent as he is.

TROTTER. [remonstrating] My dear young lady--

FANNY. I dont mean morally innocent: everybody who reads your articles
knows youre as innocent as a lamb.

TROTTER. What!

FANNY. Yes, Mr Trotter: Ive seen a good deal of life since I came to
England; and I assure you that to me youre a mere baby: a dear, good,
well-meaning, delightful, witty, charming baby; but still just a wee
lamb in a world of wolves. Cambridge is not what it was in my father's
time.

TROTTER. Well, I must say!

FANNY. Just so. Thats one of our classifications in the Cambridge Fabian
Society.

TROTTER. Classifications? I dont understand.

FANNY. We classify our aunts into different sorts. And one of the sorts
is the "I must says."

TROTTER. I withdraw "I must say." I substitute "Blame my cats!" No: I
substitute "Blame my kittens!" Observe, Miss O'Dowda: kittens. I say
again in the teeth of the whole Cambridge Fabian Society, kittens.
Impertinent little kittens. Blame them. Smack them. I guess what is on
your conscience. This play to which you have lured me is one of those in
which members of Fabian Societies instruct their grandmothers in the art
of milking ducks. And you are afraid it will shock your father. Well,
I hope it will. And if he consults me about it I shall recommend him to
smack you soundly and pack you off to bed.

FANNY. Thats one of your prettiest literary attitudes, Mr Trotter;
but it doesnt take me in. You see, I'm much more conscious of what you
really are than you are yourself, because weve discussed you thoroughly
at Cambridge; and youve never discussed yourself, have you?

TROTTER. I--

FANNY. Of course you havnt; so you see it's no good Trottering at me.

TROTTER. Trottering!

FANNY. Thats what we call it at Cambridge.

TROTTER. If it were not so obviously a stage _cliche_, I should say Damn
Cambridge. As it is, I blame my kittens. And now let me warn you. If
youre going to be a charming healthy young English girl, you may coax
me. If youre going to be an unsexed Cambridge Fabian virago, I'll treat
you as my intellectual equal, as I would treat a man.

FANNY. [adoringly] But how few men are your intellectual equals, Mr
Trotter!

TROTTER. I'm getting the worst of this.

FANNY. Oh no. Why do you say that?

TR