Sir J. (savagely) Gurrh! Look here, Mollentrave—
Mollen. Impatient person! I said a month, did I not? So far but a week has passed—(Mollentrave sits L. C.)
Sir J. (sit R. C.) Another week will drive me crazy. I dictate law to her—the dullest stuff I can find—I tell you she likes it, she never wants me to stop!
Mollen. You will forgive me, my dear Balsted—but have we been quite—senile—enough?
Sir J. Senile! Have I been senile? Haven't I simulated aches and pains, and congenital insanity, till I simply detest myself? Man, she loves me the more for it!
Mollen. (airily) Merely the first stage, Balsted! Peeling!
Sir J. I can't go on—I tell you I can't! The fact is, Mollentrave, that you've been hopelessly wrong.
Mollen. (emphatically) Events are following exactly the path that I had marked out; they are, with unerring precision, pursuing to a hairs-breadth the line I had indicated in my mind.
Sir J. (sarcastic) Indeed! Then perhaps you'll explain—
Mollen. My dear Balsted, believe that I make not the slightest reflection upon your intelligence when I remark that a general's plans are rarely comprehensible to his subalterns.