MADAM POTIPHAR. Little egotist!
JOSEPH. (unperturbed) Yes.
He rises and seats himself at the side of the table. Propping his papyrus against the reclining body of Madam Potiphar, he takes a new sheet of papyrus, and commences to copy a passage.
MADAM POTIPHAR. (wriggling about to look at him) What are you copying?
JOSEPH. Be careful. Don't jiggle my manuscript, please!
MADAM POTIPHAR. I asked, what are you copying?
JOSEPH. I am copying some inaccurate information about the climate of Egypt, with reference to the yearly crop-yield. . . . I wonder if there is any one in Egypt who has exact information on that subject? . . .
MADAM POTIPHAR. The yearly crop-yield! What do you care about the yearly crop-yield?
JOSEPH. Never mind. You wouldn't understand if I told you.
MADAM POTIPHAR. You are quite right. Besides, I didn't come here to talk about crops.