ETHEL. Then the moons. You must confess the moons here are the loveliest imaginable.
EDWIN. Then, that stupid old moon. Now, can anything be more absurd than standing on a balcony and staring at the same old moon night after night?
ETHEL. Edwin, how can you talk about the same old moon, when there’s a new one every month?
EDWIN. A pretty swindle that is, too! A new one every month. That’s just as like the one that went before it, as the one that’ll come after it. I like a little change.
ETHEL. You didn’t cut the moon up that way once. You used to look at it for hours. You were quite smitten with it then.
EDWIN. I freely grant that if I stood and gazed at it for hours, I must have been considerably struck by it.
ETHEL. Oh, Edwin dear, don’t you remember that night in particular——
EDWIN. Do I remember that night? Oh, Ethel, shall I ever forget that night—that night when—by the by, my dear, which night were you alluding to?
ETHEL. I said that one in particular.
EDWIN. Precisely so, my love, but then there were so many ones in particular, and all are so indelibly impressed upon my memory, I can’t remember one of them.