Burns: Why do you discompose yourself, Mr. Duncan? No one means you any harm.
Duncan: You have no right to address me at all. I am above your quality.
Muir (tipsy like the rest, but clear as to the situation): Duncan, are you going to apologise? Either that, or you can go home, and don’t come back.
Duncan (relapsing suddenly from temper to maudlin stupor, sinking into his chair): I will apologise if Mr. Burns will write my biography.
Simpson: He shall write it, and I will exhibit it by citation.
Duncan: Very well then, I apologise.
Muir: Very unedifying, Mr. Burns. I beg you will overlook it. Fill up, gentlemen.
[He fills the cups. As he is doing so a serving maid comes in.]
The Girl: This has just been left for Mr. Burns. (Giving him a note.) A lady in a coach.
White: A love letter, I’ll warrant. (To the Girl.) Did you read it, darling?