LILY. That’s being out in the garden at all hours.
LESLIE. Don’t say that, Mrs. Wilson. Your husband wants to go as a farmer in the Colonies—and you’ll discourage him.
LILY. You silly man, Mr. Leslie. [To CHARLEY.] You must have something hot when you go to bed, dear.
LESLIE. I love being a little ill. My wife’s an awfully good nurse.
SYBIL. I believe you put it on sometimes, Mr. Leslie.
LESLIE. Well, do you know—I believe I do. Ladies won’t put their pretty fingers round your neck for nothing. But if you have a little hoarseness—not too much to be really unpleasant—or a headache is a very good thing—it is delightful—I always say to myself:
“O woman—in our hours of ease—
Uncertain, coy and hard to please,
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou.”