MRS. SHORT. (while MRS. SWEET is fanning her) Oh, dear—oh! something has come over me so suddenly—I am afraid I shan’t be able to go to-night.
SHORT. Nonsense, my dear—it will soon pass off.
MRS. SWEET. Go, indeed! Impossible! She is more fit for her bed than the Opera. (aside, to MRS. SHORT) Now, no yielding.
MRS. SHORT. No—I feel it would be quite out of the question.
SHORT. (authoritatively) Why, what is the meaning of all this? You were well enough just now. (aside, in a threatening tone) Are you going to take a leaf out of Mrs. Sweet’s book?
MRS. SHORT. (aloud in a totally changed manner) My dear?
MRS. SWEET. As Louisa seems so unwell, Willie, and as Mr. Short, of course, can’t possibly leave his wife, suppose we send an excuse—I know you don’t care about going.
SWEET. Just as you please, my dear, whatever you like, I am agreeable to anything. Come now, I tell you what I propose. (looks significantly at MRS. SHORT) As the place doesn’t appear to agree with Mrs. Short, and as I think we have had enough of the Crystal Palace, I’ll stand treat for a month at the sea-side—change of air will do us all good. What do you say?
SHORT. (significantly to SWEET) Yes the sooner we leave the better (aside) for you. (significantly to MRS. SWEET) What do you say, Mrs. Sweet?
MRS. SWEET. (pretends to be confused, turns away her head and smiles—aside) Amusing!