Flora monologue (Act 2) — The Honeymoon: A comedy in three acts

That's just it. If it was only frivolous, empty-headed boys who were serious about it, but it isn't. The most high-minded, middle-aged men are serious about it. Why, even chaffeurs and policemen are serious about it. There must be _something_ in it. Wherever I go people are more serious about me than about anybody else--even if singers and pianists happen to be present. If I arrive late at the theatres I'm the play for at least two minutes. And I assure you in the streets it often occurs that men I don't know hurry after me very seriously about it--even if I'm veiled. And yet you and I have the same dressmaker! It's always been like that--ever since my first marriage. And it's getting more and more marked. I don't mind telling you, my dear, that my own secret view of my importance is perhaps as modest as yours is of yours--but what can you and I do against the universal opinion? I've begin to bow before the storm. It's the wisest course. You talk about what I bring to the marriage (_proudly_). I bring to the marriage the gift of heaven, cultivated by the labour of a lifetime, and, as to its value, there's only one estimate, except yours (_with a catch in her voice_)--and Cedric's! Cedric puts an aeroplane higher.