SWEET. Yes, but I mean it, Mrs. Sweet; I am not well—I am suffering from the effects of my accident—wounded both in mind and body. (crosses to R.)
MRS. SWEET. Where? Why didn’t you see the doctor, then, when I wished you?
SWEET. Zounds, ma’am! a man may be wounded without having all his bones broken—besides, I am not obliged to give a reason—I don’t choose to go, and I request you not to go either—I order you not to go!
MRS. SWEET. Oh, very well, sir, as you please, of course; but since you feel yourself so very, very ill, why on earth don’t you go to bed?
SWEET. Because I prefer to sit up. (sits, R.)
MRS. SWEET. Then you must allow me to say that your not going to-night is a mere caprice, you would be just as well at the opera as sitting up in this room.
SWEET. Possibly! but I don’t mean to put it to the proof.
MRS. SWEET. (altering her manner) What, not for my sake, Willie, not if I coax you? I do so wish to go, it is so seldom I have an opportunity of going to the opera.
SWEET. No, it’s of no use—I tell you I won’t go!