Salome.
Dear Major Tarver, surely this terrible strain on your nerves is very, very bad for you with your—your——
Tarver.
My liver—say the word, Miss Jedd.
Salome.
[Drooping her head.] Oh, Major Tarver!
Tarver.
It is frightfully injurious. Of course I’m excited now, and you see me at my best, but the alternating fits of hopeless despondency are shocking to witness and to endure!
Salome.
Oh!