BENTLEY. I'm sorry for making a fool of myself. I beg your pardon. Hypatia: I'm awfully sorry; but Ive made up my mind that I'll never marry. _[He sits down in deep depression]._ HYPATIA. _[running to him]_ How nice of you, Bentley! Of course you guessed I wanted to marry Joey. What did the Polish lady do to you? BENTLEY. _[turning his head away]_ I'd rather not speak of her, if you dont mind. HYPATIA. Youve fallen in love with her. _[She laughs]._ BENTLEY. It's beastly of you to laugh. LORD SUMMERHAYS. Youre not the first to fall today under the lash of that young lady's terrible derision, Bentley. _Lina, her cap on, and her goggles in her hand, comes impetuously through the inner door._ LINA. _[on the steps]_ Mr Percival: can we get that aeroplane started again? _[She comes down and runs to the pavilion door]._ I must get out of this into the air: right up into the blue. PERCIVAL. Impossible. The frame's twisted. The petrol has given out: thats what brought us down. And how can we get a clear run to start with among these woods? LINA. _[swooping back through the middle of the pavilion]_ We can straighten the frame. We can buy petrol at the Beacon. With a few laborers we can get her out on to the Portsmouth Road and start her along that. TARLETON. _[rising]_ But why do you want to leave us, Miss Szcz? LINA. Old pal: this is a stuffy house. You seem to think of nothing but making love. All the conversation here is about love-making. All the pictures are about love-making. The eyes of all of you are sheep's eyes. You are steeped in it, soaked in it: the very texts on the walls of your bedrooms are the ones about love. It is disgusting. It is not healthy. Your women are kept idle and dressed up for no other purpose than to be made love to. I have not been here an hour; and already everybody makes love to me as if because I am a woman it were my profession to be made love to. First you, old pal. I forgave you because you were nice about your wife. HYPATIA. Oh! oh! oh! Oh, papa!