S. Yes.
H. And nothing more?
S. No, Sir.
H. You are an angel, and I will spend my life, if you will let me, in paying you the homage that my heart feels towards you.
THE QUARREL
H. You are angry with me?
S. Have I not reason?
H. I hope you have; for I would give the world to believe my suspicions unjust. But, oh! my God! after what I have thought of you and felt towards you, as little less than an angel, to have but a doubt cross my mind for an instant that you were what I dare not name—a common lodging-house decoy, a kissing convenience, that your lips were as common as the stairs—
S. Let me go, Sir!
H. Nay—prove to me that you are not so, and I will fall down and worship you. You were the only creature that ever seemed to love me; and to have my hopes, and all my fondness for you, thus turned to a mockery—it is too much! Tell me why you have deceived me, and singled me out as your victim?