Margaret. An—ugly—old man!
Everard. What—what!
Margaret. And I—I admired him, of course. But I confess that at first—only then, when Mr. Mollentrave told me of all his diseases—Everard! His heart isn't weak?
Everard. (rise) No!
Margaret. His limbs aren't feeble?
Everard. Not in the least!
Margaret. He's not even asthmatic?
Everard. No more than I am!
Margaret. (raising her hands pathetically to Heaven) Oh!!! And yet how great his love must be, for him to have stooped to this!