Tiffany. No, sir—and I’m sure she’s quite altered and melancholy gone since you quarrelled with her, and she vows now more than ever that she never will consent to marry my lord, or any body but you—(Helen comes forward gently.)
Charles. My dear Tiffany!—let me catch the sounds from your rosy lips. (Kisses her)—
Helen. (separating them) Bless me! I am afraid I interrupt business here!
Charles. I—I—I—Upon my soul, Madam—what you saw was—
Tiffany. Ye—ye—yes—upon my word, ma’am—what you saw was—
Helen. What I saw was very clear indeed!—
Charles. Hear me but explain—you do not understand.—
Helen. I rather think I do understand.
Tiffany. Indeed, Ma’am, Mr. Charles was only whispering something I was to tell you—
Helen. And pray, ma’am, do you suffer gentlemen in general to whisper in that fashion?—what do you stand stammering and blushing there for?—why don’t you go?