Paula.
Now! What do you think a woman's made of? I couldn't stand it, Cayley. I haven't slept for nights; and last night there was thunder, too! I believe I've got the horrors.
Drummle.
[Taking the little hand-mirror from the table.] You'll sleep well enough when you deliver those letters. Come, come, Mrs. Aubrey—a good night's rest! [Holding the mirror before her face.] It's quite time.
[She looks at herself for a moment, then snatches the mirror from him.
Paula.
You brute, Cayley, to show me that!
Drummle.
Then—may I? Be guided by a fr—a poor old woman! May I?
Paula.