ETHEL. As sure as you were you.
EDWIN. Then I don't think the observation goes for much; since, if I
made so foolish a remark, I certainly was not myself.
ETHEL. Then wouldn't you give all the world for me?
EDWIN. I should be very silly if I did, for if I had the world to
give, I should have you to start with. See?
ETHEL. (_with reluctance_) Yes.
EDWIN. You quite see?
ETHEL. Yes--but you would give all the world for me, for all that,
wouldn't you? At least you'd rather have me than any other two people
put together?
EDWIN. Certainly, my dear. I don't much care for freaks of nature of
that sort.
ETHEL. And you've got me, haven't you?
EDWIN. Yes, and you've got me.
ETHEL. And you're very happy, aren't you?
EDWIN. Oh yes.
ETHEL. You're in Paradise?
EDWIN. Exactly so.
ETHEL. And so am I.
EDWIN. Do you like it?
ETHEL. Well, of course I do. Don't you?
EDWIN. Oh yes! I like it very much; but then, you know I like a little
change. I think a little Paradise is very nice indeed, but don't you
think that one may have more Paradise than's good for one? I can't
help thinking it's a great mistake to take one's Paradise neat. Now
we've been taking ours uncommon neat. Just think, the hours we've been
cooped up in that confounded private room upstairs.
ETHEL. Well, Edwin dear, you said you could not stand us being the
only people there, so we've come down into the public room.
EDWIN. And now we _have_ come, we're the only people here. I never
knew such a disgusting place. Now, if we'd had a little change----
ETHEL. You might have met that odious Miss Carruthers, I suppose you
mean--the girl that threw you over.
EDWIN. Miss Carruthers is not odious, my dear, and Miss Carruthers
didn't throw me over. Miss Carruthers was uncommonly fond of me.
ETHEL. Why didn't she have you, then?
EDWIN. Because she didn't get the chance. My only apprehension is lest
I threw Miss Carruthers over.
ETHEL. If you did, she must have tumbled on her nose, for I am sure
it's broken.
EDWIN. No, my dear, it's you who are responsible for anything that
there may be to do with Miss Carruthers' nose, for it was you who put
it out. But nothing is the matter with it. It's a lovely
nose--especially the end of it.
ETHEL. Her eyes appear to think so, for they're always looking there.
But that may be, because it is the only object they can look at both
together.
EDWIN. You don't mean to say she squints!
ETHEL. Abominably.
EDWIN. Nothing of the sort.
ETHEL. I never saw such eyes!
EDWIN. Well, well, whatever they may be, she hasn't made them.
ETHEL. But she has, repeatedly--at you. And that's what I object to.
If folks do squint, they can't help it, but if folks who squint go on
as if they didn't squint, why they deserve to have their eyes flung in
their teeth.
EDWIN. Now, why bring teeth into the question? What have Miss
Carruthers' teeth done that they should be flung at?
ETHEL. What they've done I'm sure I don't know, but I should imagine a
good deal. They look as if they'd seen hard service.
EDWIN. You compare them to a regiment of soldiers.
ETHEL. Excuse me: to a regiment of volunteers: I should never have
dreamt of comparing them to anything regular.
EDWIN. Oh, nonsense, they're a string of pearls.
ETHEL. Yes, pearls that have gone yellow.
EDWIN. Anyhow, you must admit, she has a very amiable mouth.
ETHEL. I don't think that her mouth is amiable at all, or it would
cover up her teeth more.
EDWIN. Well, what feature are you going to enlarge on next? Her ears?
ETHEL. I'm sure her ears don't want enlarging on; they're big enough
already.
EDWIN. Now there's only her hair left. Abuse her hair.
ETHEL. Oh, no, my love, she's not responsible for that. It's not her
own.
EDWIN. If she were only here now!
ETHEL. But she's not; and what's more you're not going to where she
is.
EDWIN. I don't care where I go, so long as I leave this place.
ETHEL. But you won't leave this place. We stop here a month.
EDWIN. Ethel!
ETHEL. A month.
EDWIN. A week!
ETHEL. A month.
EDWIN. A fortnight!
ETHEL. A month.
EDWIN. There's not a soul here.
ETHEL. Well, what of it? You're a married man.
EDWIN. Alas!
ETHEL. And you've no business carrying on with Miss Carruthers, and
Miss Carruthers has no business carrying on with you.
EDWIN. But she doesn't know I'm married. Ha, ha, ha!
ETHEL. She must have seen it in the papers.
EDWIN. But I didn't put it in the papers.
ETHEL. You don't mean to say you haven't put our marriage in the
papers!
EDWIN. Not in one of them, my dear. I daren't. That girl had so made
up her mind that I was going to propose to her, that the announcement
of our marriage would have given her fits.
ETHEL. And so it isn't in the papers! Oh! it isn't half being married,
when it isn't in the papers! We stop here for two months.
EDWIN. We leave here to-morrow. (_at the window_) Ethel! Ethel! I
distinctly see a woman. Positively--yes, a woman has arrived. She
turns this way. She looks--she smiles--she bows. By jingo, Miss
Carruthers! Ha, ha, ha, ha!
ETHEL. No! (_runs to window_) It _is_ her! We leave here to-morrow.
EDWIN. (_sitting down firmly_) We stop here for two months.
ETHEL. Oh! (_jumps up to window_) Well, I declare. Well, did I ever?
This is charming. (_to some one without_) How d' you do? How are you?
Quite well, thank you; so glad that you've come. Oh, Edwin, if there's
not that dear delightful Captain Plunger.
EDWIN. Eh?
ETHEL. You know. That darling Captain Plunger.
EDWIN. You don't mean that--that infernal fellow with the whiskers,
whom I've been so nearly kicking several times.
ETHEL. That very man. My favourite admirer.
EDWIN. Ethel, you're a married woman.
ETHEL. But he doesn't know it, dear. He can't.
EDWIN. Why not?
ETHEL. Because it wasn't in the paper, love. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ta, ta.
I'm going to put another dress on, and some more hair, and to go on
just as if I wasn't married, dear. He doesn't know I am, because it
wasn't in the papers. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Not in one of them! Ha, ha, ha,
ha, ha, ha!
_Exit, R._
EDWIN. I've made a horrible mistake. I ought to have pretended that it
_was_ put in the papers, every one of them, except the ones that can
be got at Dumpington. A pretty mess my candour's got me into. This is
the consequence of telling one's wife the truth. But who'd have
thought that fellow with the whiskers would turn up? I did think that
at last I'd given him the slip. He dogs me everywhere. I never could
get half a dozen words with either Ethel or that Miss Carruthers, but
he put his whiskers in between us, and it was all up with me. What
chance has intellect with whiskers? I shall have to give the local
barber half a sovereign to clip one off by accident. Meanwhile, the
first thing I must do, must be to let him know that Ethel's married.
Oh, no, hang it, the first thing he'd do, would be to tell the tale to
Miss Carruthers. I must be a bachelor again; there's no help for it.
It'll at any rate be a relief to the monotony of Dumpington. On even
terms I'd fight it out with pleasure, but I'm overweighted. Nature is
_not_ fair. She doesn't divide the whiskers properly.
_Enter MRS. PLUNGER, R., advancing quickly to him._
MRS. P. Oh, Mr. Larkspur, how d'you do? You can't think how rejoiced I
was to see you at the window just now; Dumpington is so extremely dull
without society.
EDWIN. It is indeed. I'm sure I was entranced when I saw you. I was
quite longing for a little change.
MRS. P. Have you been here some time?