Rosamund. Jealous! My dear James! Have you noticed how her skirts hang?
James. Hang her skirts!
Rosamund. You wish to defend her?
James. On the contrary; it was I who first accused her. [Gerald, to avoid the approaching storm, seeks the shelter of the screen, sits down, and taking some paper from his pocket begins thoughtfully to write.]
Rosamund. My dear James, let me advise you to keep quite, quite calm. You are a little bit upset.
James. I am a perfect cucumber. But I can hear you breathing.
Rosamund. If you are a cucumber, you are a very indelicate cucumber. I'm not breathing more than is necessary to sustain life.
James. Yes, you are; and what's more you'll cry in a minute if you don't take care. You're getting worked up.
Rosamund. No, I shan't. [Sits down and cries.]
James. What did I tell you? Now perhaps you will inform me what we are quarreling about, because I haven't the least idea.