ADELA. (frightened) That voice!
FRANK. The better to tell you that I love you—my dear—
ADELA. A man! who are you?
FRANK. One who adores you! I am Frank—I mean Harry Mitchell. (advancing to her, she eludes him and runs over to R.)
ADELA. Oh, wretch, villain! oh, oh, oh! I am very ill—oh, oh! (falls into chair)
FRANK. (running about) Oh, curse it! here’s a mess I’ve made of it.
ADELA. Oh, oh!
FRANK. What must I do?—bite her finger, I suppose!
ADELA. Oh, salts, vinegar!