Blenkinsop.
Spare me my blushes, dear boy. It always embarrasses me to be flattered to my face.
Gerald.
You silly old fool.
Blenkinsop.
I believe you’re considerably annoyed.
Gerald.
Not in the least. What the dickens is there about you that should annoy me?
Blenkinsop.
Now that I come to think of it, you are certainly in a passion. Your face is red, your attire is disordered, and you have a slight squint in your eye.