HE. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away before we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is chilly.
SHE. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you think of my cape?
HE. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from?
SHE. He gave it me, on Wednesday... our wedding-day, you know.
HE. The deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age. D'you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't.
SHE. Don't you?
“Kind Sir, O' your courtesy,
As you go by the town, Sir,
Pray you O' your love for me,
Buy me a russet gown, Sir.”
HE. I won't say: “Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.” Only wait a little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything else.
SHE. And when the frocks wear out, you'll get me new ones—and everything else?
HE. Assuredly.