LADY P. A sadness oppresses me that I find very difficult to conquer.
MAR. Your husband worries you, I dare say—mine does sometimes, though he’s very good to me, one way and another. But I don’t like his wanting me to learn so much about nouns, and pronouns, and history—and then he gives me such dull books to read, all about astrology, and chronology, and physiology, and conchology, and etymology, and how many miles the moon’s off—just as if one wanted to know, as long as it shines. I can’t bear it! Give me Robinson Crusoe and the Seven Champions—that’s what I like! But with all his learning I can do what he can’t.
LADY P. What’s that, my dear?
MAR. Get up on a cold morning. Ah! you should only see him try!
LADY P. Your gaiety of heart, my dear Margaret——
MAR. Margery, call me Margery—it sounds more comfortable.
LADY P. My dear Margery——
MAR. That’s it!
LADY P. And animal spirits, are proof against all temperatures.
MAR. Lord! how fine you do talk! you’ll be just the thing for my husband—I wonder whether I shall like yours. He seems a funny old fellow, and so grand too, and so upright, and his hair all so nicely floured over. What did you love him for?