Europa. What do I take you for?
Sir T. A fool, I think.
Europa. Oh, have I overdone it?
I thought you loved the pure Material truth.
I will be difficult at once!
Sir T. Too late,
Europa.
Europa. Why? What can you not forgive?
I came; you found me sleeping, and were glad.
Sir T. The sweetest action may be spoiled by speech:
A thing no woman ever understands.
Europa. What have I said? Correct me, punish me!
I spoke too soon; my mind is scarce awake.
Sir T. How brutal women are, how cynical!
I've never known a tender-hearted woman.
Europa. Hard as a diamond am I; and my love
A jewelled flame: high hearts are always hard.
Souls lapped in cotton wool are not for me!
Sir T. Now comes the diatribe! No woman yet
Could keep her temper past a word or two!