Wisdom and love, sweet, are sworn enemies.
Miss Fitton:
[Rising.] I have many faults: if you knew them all, you might not love me.
Shakespeare:
Faults! you have no faults!
Miss Fitton:
[Gravely.] I’m too tall, and I look twenty-five though I’m only seventeen. Then my nose is not quite straight—do you see? [Holds up her face.] Besides, I’m very proud and hot-tempered—vain! No: I’m not vain, ever.
Shakespeare:
Delightful wretch! [Puts his hands on her shoulders.] Now girlish-gay and now so witty-wise; but always adorable.
Miss Fitton: