SWEET. Not happy with her! Do you mean seriously to insinuate that I am not happy with her? Take care what you are doing, Short. Don’t try to disenchant my life with horrible suspicions, but even if it were so, I shall never win her back to me by violence and quarrelling. (sits, L.)
SHORT. Of course not, I never think of quarrelling with my wife, and as to violence, I hate it—on the contrary, I sometimes show her little delicate attentions which women know well how to appreciate—for instance, she is going to the Opera to-night—well, what do I do? Why I send up to Covent Garden market, and buy her a bouquet. Billington was going to buy some for himself, and I entrusted him with the commission. (SWEET rises and runs, C.) Where are you going?
SWEET. To buy something for my wife.
SHORT. Buy something—what?
SWEET. I don’t know—anything—half a dozen things—everything I can find.
SHORT. Stay, stay!
SWEET. Don’t hinder me! Let’s see, have I any money—yes, all right! I’ll tell them to send in their whole stock for selection—the first shop I come to.
SHORT. (detaining him) Sweet, don’t be a fool—the first shop you come to’s a pork butcher’s!
Enter MARIA, L. C., with the book of the fashions.