MRS. SWEET. Well, perhaps, I’ve been too hasty—say you didn’t mean it, William.
SWEET. Oh no, my love—upon my honour I didn’t mean it!
MRS. SWEET. Well, then, as Mr. Billington will be expecting us, I suppose I must go.
MRS. SHORT. Now, if my husband would but come.
MRS. SWEET. Oh, never mind him—if he is not in in time we’ll go without him. Come, we haven’t a minute to spare, the horses will be here directly.
Exit MRS. SWEET, door, L. 2. E., and MRS. SHORT, door, L. 1. E.
SWEET. (looking after them) “We’ll go without him!” Exactly! That’s the way she carries it! if I had been the absentee, and had only been a quarter of a minute behind time, she would go without me, as lieve as look at me—she treats me as if I had been married twenty years instead of half as many months. But all applies to Short, just as well as to me, and yet how he lords it over his wife—she actually seems to doat upon him—fondles him—pats him, gives way to him—whereas Mrs. Sweet expresses her affection for me by snapping and snubbing, and constant contradiction. It’s extraordinary, I never perceived it before we took these joint lodgings down here for the sake of being near the Crystal Palace, for if we did sometimes quarrel I always coaxed her into good temper again, but since I have witnessed Short’s happiness I confess my eyes are opened to the different state of things existing in the two families, and I acknowledge that it irritates me! annoys me! for I begin to feel myself in a very false and ridiculous position! Oh, I must turn over a new leaf!—I really must! I wonder how Short does it, for he is nothing like so good-looking as I am—on the contrary, although he is my most particular friend, he’s a confoundedly ugly fellow.
Enter STEPHEN, L. 1 E.
STEPH. The horses are at the door, sir.
SWEET. Very well, get my whip.