That was not my fault.
MRS GEORGE. My husband has a sense of humor too.
HOTCHKISS. The coal merchant?--I mean the slate merchant.
MRS GEORGE [appreciatively] He would just love to hear you talk.
He's been dull lately for want of a change of company and a bit
of fresh fun.
HOTCHKISS [flinging a chair opposite her and sitting down with an
overdone attempt at studied insolence] And pray what is your
wretched husband's vulgar conviviality to me?
MRS GEORGE. You love me?
HOTCHKISS. I loathe you.
MRS GEORGE. It's the same thing.
HOTCHKISS. Then I'm lost.
MRS GEORGE. You may come and see me if you promise to amuse
George.
HOTCHKISS. I'll insult him, sneer at him, wipe my boots on him.
MRS GEORGE. No you wont, dear boy. Youll be a perfect gentleman.
HOTCHKISS [beaten; appealing to her mercy] Zenobia--
MRS GEORGE. Polly, please.
HOTCHKISS. Mrs Collins--
MRS GEORGE. Sir?
HOTCHKISS. Something stronger than my reason and common sense is
holding my hands and tearing me along. I make no attempt to deny
that it can drag me where you please and make me do what you
like. But at least let me know your soul as you seem to know
mine. Do you love this absurd coal merchant?
MRS GEORGE.
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