He. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that
means it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away
before we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is chilly.
She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you
think of my cape?
He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is
desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like
everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from?
She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know.
He. The Deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age.
D'you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't.
She. Don't you?
Kind Sir, o' your courtesy,
As you go by the town, Sir,
'Pray you o' your love for me,
Buy me a russet gown, Sir.
He. I won't say: 'Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.' Only wait a
little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and
everything else.
She. And when the frocks wear out you'll get me new ones and
everything else?
He. Assuredly.
She. I wonder!
He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights
in the train to hear you wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at
Shaifazehat.
She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That
was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces.
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