You?
SHE: Nineteen--just.
HE: I suppose you're the product of a fashionable school.
SHE: No--I'm fairly raw material.

I was expelled from Spence--I've forgotten why.
HE: What's your general trend?
SHE: Oh, I'm bright, quite selfish, emotional when aroused, fond of admiration-- HE: (Suddenly) I don't want to fall in love with you-- SHE: (Raising her eyebrows) Nobody asked you to.
HE: (Continuing coldly) But I probably will.

I love your mouth.
SHE: Hush! Please don't fall in love with my mouth--hair, eyes, shoulders, slippers--but _not_ my mouth.

Everybody falls in love with my mouth.
HE: It's quite beautiful.
SHE: It's too small.
HE: No it isn't--let's see.
(He kisses her again with the same thoroughness.) SHE: (Rather moved) Say something sweet.
HE: (Frightened) Lord help me.
SHE: (Drawing away) Well, don't--if it's so hard.
HE: Shall we pretend?
So soon?
SHE: We haven't the same standards of time as other people.
HE: Already it's--other people.
SHE: Let's pretend.
HE: No--I can't--it's sentiment.
SHE: You're not sentimental?
HE: No, I'm romantic--a sentimental person thinks things will last--a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't.

Sentiment is emotional.
SHE: And you're not?
(With her eyes half-closed.) You probably flatter yourself that that's a superior attitude.
HE: Well--Rosalind, Rosalind, don't argue--kiss me again.
SHE: (Quite chilly now) No--I have no desire to kiss you.
HE: (Openly taken aback) You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.
SHE: This is now.
HE: I'd better go.
SHE: I suppose so.
(He goes toward the door.) SHE: Oh! (He turns.) SHE: (Laughing) Score--Home Team: One hundred--Opponents: Zero.
(He starts back.) SHE: (Quickly) Rain--no game.
(He goes out.) (She goes quietly to the chiffonier, takes out a cigarette-case and hides it in the side drawer of a desk.