Do you see this face, once
fresh and rosy like your own, now scarred and riven by a hundred
burnt-out fires?
HOTCHKISS [wildly] Slate fires. Thirteen shillings a ton. Fires
that shoot out destructive meteors, blinding and burning, sending
men into the streets to make fools of themselves.
MRS GEORGE. You seem to have got it pretty bad, Sinjon.
HOTCHKISS. Dont dare call me Sinjon.
MRS GEORGE. My name is Zenobia Alexandrina. You may call me Polly
for short.
HOTCHKISS. Your name is Ashtoreth--Durga--there is no name yet
invented malign enough for you.
MRS GEORGE [sitting down comfortably] Come! Do you really think
youre better suited to that young sauce box than her husband? You
enjoyed her company when you were only the friend of the family--
when there was the husband there to shew off against and to take
all the responsibility. Are you sure youll enjoy it as much when
you are the husband? She isnt clever, you know. She's only silly-
clever.
HOTCHKISS [uneasily leaning against the table and holding on to
it to control his nervous movements] Need you tell me? fiend that
you are!
MRS GEORGE. You amused the husband, didnt you?
HOTCHKISS. He has more real sense of humor than she. He's better
bred.
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