Horace. It is much too cold. Besides, I want to read.
Aunt. I never knew anyone as selfish as you, Horace.
Horace. Well, what keeps you? Why don’t you go?
Aunt. You know I can’t. I haven’t got a dress.
Horace. Well, go without it.
Aunt. Horace!
Horace. I mean, you can easily find one that will do.
Aunt. I think men are perfect fools. One that will do, indeed. Now don’t speak to me any more.
Horace. Kindly listen to me. In spite of my frightful cough—(Slight cough)—I’ve been out in the bitter snow to get this copy of the “Astronomer.” It contains an article on life on the planet Mars, in which you know I am much interested. And you ask me to put on thin dress clothes and go out again, and run tremendous risks with my delicate throat and supersensitive lungs, and all for what? To see a lot of fools capering about and making idiots of themselves until four or five in the morning. I think you are most inconsiderate—
Aunt. Horace——