FANNY. Oh, I would not for the world try to influence your opinion. TROTTER. But you do: you are influencing me very shockingly. You invite me to this charming house, where I'm about to enjoy a charming dinner. And just before the dinner I'm taken aside by a charming young lady to be talked to about the play. How can you expect me to be impartial? God forbid that I should set up to be a judge, or do more than record an impression; but my impressions can be influenced; and in this case youre influencing them shamelessly all the time. FANNY. Dont make me more nervous than I am already, Mr Trotter. If you knew how I feel! TROTTER. Naturally: your first party: your first appearance in England as hostess. But youre doing it beautifully. Dont be afraid. Every _nuance_ is perfect. FANNY. It's so kind of you to say so, Mr Trotter. But that isnt whats the matter. The truth is, this play is going to give my father a dreadful shock. TROTTER. Nothing unusual in that, I'm sorry to say. Half the young ladies in London spend their evenings 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.