Ed. Hardly pretending. I just sat still, with my eyes shut, and the fellow stroked my face a bit. I waited to see if anything would come of it—and nothing did, that's all. At least, I'm not aware that I did anything peculiar. In fact, I'm certain I didn't. (Uneasily.) Eh, ANGELINA?
Ang. (indistinctly, owing to her face being buried in cushions). If you d-d-d-on't really know, you'd bub-bub-better-not ask—but I believe you do—quite well!
Ed. Look here, ANGIE, if I behaved at all out of the common, it's just as well that I should know it. I don't recollect it, that's all. Do pull yourself together, and tell me all about it.
Ang. (sitting up). Very well—if you will have it, you must. But you can't really have forgotten how you stood before the footlights, making the most horrible faces, as if you were in front of a looking-glass. All those other creatures were doing it, too; but, oh, EDWIN, yours were far the ugliest—they haunt me still.... I mustn't think of them—I won't! [Buries her face again.
Ed. (reddening painfully). No, I say—did I? not really—without humbug, ANGELINA!
Ang. You know best if it was without humbug! And, after that, he gave you a glass of cuc-cod-liver oil, and—and pup-pup-paraffin, and you dud-drank it up, and asked for more, and said it was the bub-bub-best Scotch whiskey you ever tasted. You oughtn't even to know about Scotch whiskey!
Ed. I can't know much if I did that. Odd I shouldn't remember it, though. Was that all?
Ang. Oh, no. After that you sang—a dreadful song—and pretended to accompany yourself on a broom. EDWIN, you know you did; you can't deny it!
Ed. I—I didn't know I could sing; and—did you say on a broom? It's bad enough for me already, ANGELINA, without howling! Well, I sang—and what then?
Ang. Then he put out a cane with a silver top close to your face, and you squinted at it, and followed it about everywhere with your nose; you must have known how utterly idiotic you looked!