Constance.—"Why do you care?"
Bartlett.—"Why do I care?"
Constance.—"Yes. Why should you mind whether so weak and silly a thing as I is glad or sad? I can't understand. Why have you had so much patience with me? Why do you take all this trouble on my account, and waste your time on me? Why"—
Bartlett, starting up.—"Why do I do it?" He walks away to the other side of the room with signs of great inward struggle; then he swiftly returns to her side where she has risen and stands near the sofa, and seizes her hand. "Well, I will tell you why. No, no! I can't! It would be"—
General Wyatt, behind his newspaper.—"Outrageous! Gross violation of good faith! Infernal shame!" The General concludes these observations with a loud, prolonged, and very stertorous respiration.
Constance, running to him.—"Why, papa, what do you mean? Oh poor papa! He's asleep, and in such a wretched position!" From which she hastens to move him, while Bartlett, recovering from the amaze in which the appositeness of the General's remarks had plunged him, breaks into a harsh "Ha! ha!" Constance turns and advances upon him in threatening majesty: "Did you laugh, Mr. Bartlett?"
Bartlett, after a moment's dismay.—"Well, I don't know whether you call it laughing. I smiled."
Constance, with increasing awfulness: "Why did you laugh, Mr. Bartlett?"
Bartlett.—"I—I—I can't say."
Constance.—"You were laughing at General Wyatt!"