SIR HARRY. [Deceived.] Yes.
KATE. [Who likes Lady Sims—a piece of presumption on her part.] It is a very pretty face.
SIR HARRY. [With the pride of possession.] Acknowledged to be a beauty everywhere.
KATE. There is a merry look in the eyes, and character in the chin.
SIR HARRY. [Like an auctioneer.] Noted for her wit.
KATE. All her life before her when that was painted. It is a spirituelle face too. [Suddenly she turns on him with anger, for the first and only time in the play.] Oh, Harry, you brute!
SIR HARRY. [Staggered.] Eh? What?
KATE. That dear creature, capable of becoming a noble wife and mother—she is the spiritless woman of no account that I saw here a few minutes ago. I forgive you for myself, for I escaped, but that poor lost soul, oh, Harry, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [Waving her to the door.] I'll thank you—If ever there was a woman proud of her husband and happy in her married life, that woman is Lady Sims.
KATE. I wonder.