MARGARET. I know I have nice ears.
DEARTH. They are all right now, but I had to work on them for months.
MARGARET. You don't mean to say that you did my ears?
DEARTH. Rather!
MARGARET (grown humble). My dimple is my own.
DEARTH. I am glad you think so. I wore out the point of my little finger over that dimple.
MARGARET. Even my dimple! Have I anything that is really mine? A bit of my nose or anything?
DEARTH. When you were a babe you had a laugh that was all your own.
MARGARET. Haven't I it now?
DEARTH. It's gone. (He looks ruefully at her.) I'll tell you how it went. We were fishing in a stream—that is to say, I was wading and you were sitting on my shoulders holding the rod. We didn't catch anything. Somehow or another—I can't think how I did it—you irritated me, and I answered you sharply.