"I can only say, Cinda, whatever you do or say or think is right. It's
all for you to decide."
"And I'm afraid I can't--not yet, at least. And when I do, I ought to
warn you, the chances are I shan't decide the way you want me to."
"I know. But don't worry about me. I can take punishment, I've proved
that, I think. So do what seems best to you. I'll faithfully follow your
lead. I only want to play the game."
"And I.... But we both want to be sure it's worth the scandal, don't we,
Dobbin?"
"You joke about what's life and death to me!"
"I did it on purpose, old dear." Lucinda tapped his arm intimately with
her fan. "Yes, I did. I don't want you to think, afterwards--if it turns
out so you'd be tempted to think it--that I didn't, as you say, play
fair. So it's only fair to let you find out as soon as possible that I'm
an incurably frivolous person, Dobbin, vain, trifling, flippant,
and--I'm afraid--a flirt."
"Not you!"
"Truly. Haven't I been letting you believe I made myself pretty tonight
for your sake? It isn't true, at least not all true. It was for my own
sake, really, because we're going to the opera, and everybody I know
will see me there, and I want them to know what Bel neglects for
his--other women!"
From the doorway an unctuous voice announced: "Dinner is served,
madam."