ALICE. Yes, in this house at least. [The CAPTAIN yawns] So, you yawn in your wife's presence!
CAPTAIN. Well, what can I do? Don't you notice how day by day we are saying the same things to each other? When, just now, you sprang that good old phrase of yours, "in this house at least," I should have come back with my own stand-by, "it is not my house only." But as I have already made that reply some five hundred times, I yawned instead. And my yawn could be taken to mean either that I was too lazy to answer, or "right you are, my angel," or "supposing we quit."
ALICE. You are very amiable to-night.
CAPTAIN. Is it not time for supper soon?
ALICE. Do you know that the doctor ordered supper from the city—from the Grand Hotel?
CAPTAIN. No! Then they are having ptarmigans—tschk! Ptarmigan, you know, is the finest bird there is, but it's clear barbarism to fry it in bacon grease——
ALICE. Ugh! Don't talk of food.
CAPTAIN. Well, how about wines? I wonder what those barbarians are drinking with the ptarmigans?
ALICE. Do you want me to play for you?
CAPTAIN. [Sits down at the writing-table] The last resource! Well, if you could only leave your dirges and lamentations alone—it sounds too much like music with a moral. And I am always adding within myself: "Can't you hear how unhappy I am! Meow, meow! Can't you hear what a horrible husband I have! Brum, brum, brum! If he would only die soon! Beating of the joyful drum, flourishes, the finale of the Alcazar Waltz, Champagne Galop!" Speaking of champagne, I guess there are a couple of bottles left. What would you say about bringing them up and pretending to have company?