CAPT. G. (In answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes.) Corns—my worst.
MRS. H. Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world! I'll never do it again.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) No, I don't think you will; but I wonder what you will do before it's all over. (To Khitmatgar.) Thorah ur Simpkin do.
MRS. H. Well! Haven't you the grace to apologise, bad man?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) I mustn't let it drift back now. Trust a woman for being as blind as a bat when she won't see.
MRS. H. I'm waiting: or would you like me to dictate a form of apology?
CAPT. G. (Desperately.) By all means dictate.
MRS. H. (Lightly.) Very well. Rehearse your several Christian names after me and go on: 'Profess my sincere repentance.'
CAPT. G. 'Sincere repentance.'
MRS. H. 'For having behaved—'