Alice. That’s your word—but you usually come. Why not last night? You knew that I wanted to see you very much.
George. I had something to do. I couldn’t get away.
Alice. Then why not have telephoned to me? Maud had opera tickets given her—I missed “Tristan,” waiting for you.
George. At last we have the real cause of your bad humor, which is not on account of my non-appearance but your missing “Tristan und Isolde.”
Alice. You know, George, that that isn’t true.
George. You started this argument—why cry if you are hurt?
Alice. Cry?
George. It’s the same as crying—and tears, you know how I hate them.
Alice. Unless they be sprinkled on withered rose leaves, yes!
George. It’s always the same thing; you constantly insult my taste and brain.