(GREATOREX _returns_ MISS LEVERING'S _book open; he has been keeping the place with his finger. She opens it and shuts her handkerchief in._) GREAT. And we in the act of discussing Italian literature! Perhaps you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady. MISS L. But for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness, don't you think, than--baths? GREAT. No, I can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. _You're_ much too--leave it to the others. JEAN. What others? GREAT. (_with smiling impertinence_). Oh, the sort of woman who smells of indiarubber. The typical English spinster. (_To_ MISS LEVERING.) _You_ know--Italy's full of her. She never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and a collapsible bath--rubber. When you look at her, it's borne in upon you that she doesn't only smell of rubber. _She's_ rubber too. LORD J. (_laughing_). This is my niece, Miss Jean Dunbarton, Miss Levering. JEAN. How do you do? (_They shake hands._) GREAT. (_to_ JEAN). I'm sure _you_ agree with me. JEAN. About Miss Levering being too---- GREAT. For that sort of thing--_much_ too---- MISS L. What a pity you've exhausted the more eloquent adjectives. GREAT. But I haven't! MISS L. Well, you can't say to me as you did to Mrs. Freddy: "You're too young and too happily married--and too----" (_Glances round smiling at_ MRS. FREDDY, _who, oblivious, is laughing and talking to her husband and_ MRS. HERIOT.) JEAN. For what was Mrs. Freddy too happily married and all the rest? MISS L. (_lightly_). Mr. Greatorex was repudiating the horrid rumour that Mrs. Freddy had been speaking in public; about Women's Trade Unions--wasn't that what you said, Mrs. Heriot? LORD J. (_chuckling_). Yes, it isn't made up as carefully as your aunt's parties usually are. Here we've got Greatorex (_takes his arm_) who hates political women, and we've got in that mild and inoffensive-looking little lady---- (_Motion over his shoulder towards_ MRS. FREDDY.) GREAT. (_shrinking down stage in comic terror_). You don't mean she's _really_---- JEAN (_simultaneously and gaily rising_). Oh, and you've got me! LORD J. (_with genial affection_). My dear child, he doesn't hate the charming wives and sweethearts who help to win seats. (JEAN _makes her uncle a discreet little signal of warning._) MISS L. Mr. Greatorex objects only to the unsexed creatures who--a---- LORD J. (_hastily to cover up his slip_). Yes, yes, who want to act independently of men. MISS L. Vote, and do silly things of that sort. LORD J. (_with enthusiasm_). Exactly. MRS. H. It will be a long time before we hear any more of _that_ nonsense. JEAN. You mean that rowdy scene in the House of Commons? MRS. H. Yes. No decent woman will be able to say "Suffrage" without blushing for another generation, thank Heaven! MISS L. (_smiling_). Oh? I understood that so little I almost imagined people were more stirred up about it than they'd ever been before.