The Missionary1982

Reverend Fortescue:
Isabel?

Lady Isabel Ames:
Charles! What are you doing here?

Reverend Fortescue:
I've come to stop you.

Lady Isabel Ames:
How dare you? How dare you interfere with my plans?

Reverend Fortescue:
You mustn't kill him.

Lady Isabel Ames:
Why not? What business is it of yours, interfering priest?

Reverend Fortescue:
You could hang for it.

Lady Isabel Ames:
No one's going to hang. It's a simple shooting accident.

Reverend Fortescue:
Isabel, this is England in 1906. People don't go around killing each other just because they don't get on!

Lady Isabel Ames:
No, they just endure don't they? Stiff upper lip, that's the British way. I'm sure it wasn't like that in Africa.

Reverend Fortescue:
Africa's primitive!

Lady Isabel Ames:
Oh, yes. God save us from being primitive.

Reverend Fortescue:
There's not so much wrong with the British way, for your class especially.

Lady Isabel Ames:
My class? This is not my class, Charles.

Reverend Fortescue:
You know what I mean.

Lady Isabel Ames:
You don't know what *I* mean.

[Adopts a changed accent and demeanor]

Lady Isabel Ames:
You alone, sir? Want some company? Clean and cheap?

[She returns to normal, Fortescue is speechless]

Lady Isabel Ames:
Yes. I've disguised it well, haven't I? I had to. The honest tart never gets anywhere. No, they're not my bloody class, thank God!