He. Lost fiddlestick!
She. You are very rude!
He. I don’t see—
She. And very disagreeable.
He. But—
She. If you had really loved your wife, you’d always mourn for her, whatever she did.
He. Good Heavens! That is like a woman. A man is expected to bear anything, everything, and if at last he does not come weeping to kiss the hand that smites him, he is heartless, forsooth! Bah! I am not a whipped puppy, thank you.
She. Your love was, perhaps, never distinguished by meekness?
He. I’m afraid not.