MRS. M. (R.) But no doubt she wishes to consult you on business, and she might prove an excellent client.
MOUS. (L.) I hate business! I hate clients! I hate everything in the world but you, my ’Stasia. What’s the world to me? Nothing! What are its “gay and festive scenes, its halls of dazzling light” to me? Nothing! Oh, ’Stasia! ’Stasia!
MRS. M. What nonsense you talk. One would suppose we had only been married a week instead of a year. Has any one been here for me?
MOUS. (eagerly) Any one! Not that I know of. Who do you expect?
MRS. M. Why only the laundress with my veil. She promised faithfully to let me have it to-day. When you go out, perhaps you will just call, and say I’m waiting for it. It’s only just over the way.
MOUS. Of course, if you insist upon it, I will. But perhaps you’re not aware that there are usually from thirty to forty females of various ages and dimensions engaged in that establishment over the way, and I don’t think it would be exactly the safest place in the world for an unprotected male. Besides, I might be seen entering the premises, and then what would people say? Am I not known in the neighbourhood as the best of husbands? When we go out don’t the people rush to their doors and windows to look at us? Oh, ’Stasy! ’Stasy!
MRS. M. Ha, ha, ha! My dear Marmaduke, you are certainly getting a little cracked on the subject.
MOUS. I know it. I’m so much cracked that I wonder I don’t fall to pieces. But I can’t help it. (placing his arm round her waist)
CRUM. (without, L. D. F.) Oh, Mouser’s at home, is he? Particularly engaged, d’ye say? Pooh, pooh! I know better.
MOUS. (aside) I shall do Crummy a terrific injury some of these days. I’m sure I shall.