Gunning.
You needn’t reproach me for taking an interest in you.
Miss Woodward.
I don’t; but you make such a fuss about it, as if it were a sort of miracle.
Gunning.
[Crossly takes plate from her lap and cake from her hand; puts them on table, R.] Oh well, I suppose I oughtn’t to detain you, Miss Woodward. You are evidently anxious to get back to your twelve sisters and the hat and frock you told me about.
Miss Woodward.
[Rises.] You needn’t throw the family poverty in my face, although it serves me right for giving my confidence to a comparative stranger.
Gunning.