Tom.
[With forced hilarity.] Ho, ho! ha, ha! And the spurs—the spurs that once tore your satin petticoat! You recollect———?
Imogen.
[Her mirth suddenly checked.] Recollect!
Tom.
You would see those spurs to-night, too, if you patronized us—and the red worsted tights. The worsted tights are a little thinner, a little more faded and discolored, a little more darned—Oh, yes, thank you, I am still, as you put it, still—still—still——
[He walks away, going to the mantelpiece and turning his back upon her.]
Imogen.
[After a brief pause.] I'm sure I didn't intend to hurt your feelings, Wrench.