ETHEL. Her eyes appear to think so, for they’re always looking there. But that may be, because it is the only object they can look at both together.
EDWIN. You don’t mean to say she squints!
ETHEL. Abominably.
EDWIN. Nothing of the sort.
ETHEL. I never saw such eyes!
EDWIN. Well, well, whatever they may be, she hasn’t made them.
ETHEL. But she has, repeatedly—at you. And that’s what I object to. If folks do squint, they can’t help it, but if folks who squint go on as if they didn’t squint, why they deserve to have their eyes flung in their teeth.
EDWIN. Now, why bring teeth into the question? What have Miss Carruthers’ teeth done that they should be flung at?
ETHEL. What they’ve done I’m sure I don’t know, but I should imagine a good deal. They look as if they’d seen hard service.
EDWIN. You compare them to a regiment of soldiers.