Arabella Oh, my frivolousness, my frivolousness; I believe that my gayety ought to prove my tenderness. Here's how I think you ought to have reasoned, knowing me, and my fear of marriage because it is sad. I naturally fear marriage. I see they want to marry me to you—and I show no emotion. Well—to be gay under these circumstances—doesn't that prove I love you?
Desmond
That's not to hate me.
Arabella If you don't want me to hate you, don't anger me any more with the tone you're taking. Seems to me, I love you passably well.
Desmond
Passably—there's a very touching expression. "Passably."
Arabella
Oh—I wish you could count the joys I feel.
Desmond That joy would be properly expressed if you were sure our marriage will succeed—but in the situation we are in, you ought to tremble. And if you were in love, you'd be like me: ill at ease, agitated, in a cruel uncertainty, languishing, sighing, trembling.
(Enter the Countess and her Maid.)
Countess
Well, Arabella, I am working to marry you—aren't you delighted?
Arabella On the contrary, Madame, I am ill at ease, agitated, and in a cruel uncertainty, languishing, sighing, and trembling. Is that how I should love, sir?
Countess Enough, Arabella, enough. Desmond, it was I who told her to tease you a bit over your emotionalism. It's not that I don't esteem you highly; the interest I take in your marriage proves that. But today, I've resolved to laugh, and to ridicule all those who happen to be around me. I have nothing but a boring day to pass in the country, and I am gong to amuse myself at the expense of anyone who happens to be around. So beware. Our widow will be the principal subject of my diversion—and the way I intend to get the money out of Mrs. Bramble is a comedy which will amuse me immensely.