Hardcastle.
Zounds, man, out of the way! Don’t talk to me about the parlour. Can’t I come and see my son-in-law in any room I choose?
[Charles mutters an oath; Kate stands, clutching her broom convulsively, facing her father.
Hardcastle.
[Boisterously.] How d’ye do, son-in-law? Kate, my dear, give me a kiss. Heavens, child, don’t stand there clinging to a broomstick as though you were going to fly away with it. Come and kiss your old father.
[Kate drops the broom nervously and kisses him obediently.
Charles.
[Endeavouring by the warmth of his welcome to divert attention from his wife.] How d’ye do, Sir—How d’ye do? [Wringing his hand.]
Hardcastle.