“Heaven be praised for folly, blindness, and madness! Well, Heaven be praised for all things! But what the deuce is it, Clifton?”
“Mole! mole! Oh, God, how grateful—how rejoiced I am!”
“Oh, Lord, how grateful and rejoiced he is, that he’s a mole! Clifton!—What the mischief! Don’t keep on striding about, talking to yourself, with your hand clapped to your forehead, like a walking gentleman in a melo-drama, which you always detested! Besides, you know there is no legitimate dramatic reason for a married hero to stride about and obstreperate, excepting only jealousy, and you’re not jealous? Come! cease starting and vociferating, and tell me the cause—‘the CAUSE, my soul!’”
“Frank! I’ve been a fool!”
“That’s no news.”
“And a brute!”
“Who doesn’t know that?”
“And a cursed villain.”
“Nay, ‘I wouldn’t hear your enemy say that.’”
“Oh! Frank, Frank, what shall I do?”