Char. By letter?
Helen. Yes, sir,—for this personal visit being rather unexpected, does not promise to be particularly pleasant—
Char. I believe so, madam—you did not calculate, I fancy, on this sudden return.
Helen. No, indeed, sir—and should have shown all Christian patience if this sudden return hadn’t happened these twelve months.
Char. The devil you would! madam!—but I’ll be cool—I’ll cut her to the heart with a razor of ice—I’ll congeal her with indifference—you must know, madam—
Helen. Bless me, Charles, how very strangely you look—you’re pale and red, and red and pale, in the same moment! why you can scarcely breathe! and now you tremble so! I’m afraid you are very ill.
Char. Sarcastic!
Helen. You move all over like a ship in a storm!
Char. Vastly well, madam—and now—
Helen. Your teeth chatter!—