BRASSBOUND (disconcerted). I—I don't know how it got torn.
LADY CICELY. You should not get virtuously indignant with people. It bursts clothes more than anything else, Mr. Hallam.
BRASSBOUND (flushing, quickly). I beg you will not call me Mr. Hallam. I hate the name.
LADY CICELY. Black Paquito is your pet name, isn't it?
BRASSBOUND (huffily). I am not usually called so to my face.
LADY CICELY (turning the coat a little). I'm so sorry. (She takes another piece of thread and puts it into her needle, looking placidly and reflectively upward meanwhile.) Do you know, You are wonderfully like your uncle.
BRASSBOUND. Damnation!
LADY CICELY. Eh?
BRASSBOUND. If I thought my veins contained a drop of his black blood, I would drain them empty with my knife. I have no relations. I had a mother: that was all.
LADY CICELY (unconvinced) I daresay you have your mother's complexion. But didn't you notice Sir Howard's temper, his doggedness, his high spirit: above all, his belief in ruling people by force, as you rule your men; and in revenge and punishment, just as you want to revenge your mother? Didn't you recognize yourself in that?