HAROLD. Old boy! Do you seriously think you're going to make it any better by marrying her?
[Bill shrugs his shoulders, still pacing the room.]
BILL. Look here! I'm not the sort that finds it easy to say things.
HAROLD. No, old man.
BILL. But I've got a kind of self-respect though you wouldn't think it!
HAROLD. My dear old chap!
BILL. This is about as low-down a thing as one could have done, I suppose—one's own mother's maid; we've known her since she was so high. I see it now that—I've got over the attack.
HAROLD. But, heavens! if you're no longer keen on her, Bill! Do apply your reason, old boy.
There is silence; while BILL again paces up and dozen.
BILL. If you think I care two straws about the morality of the thing.