They look awkward, and affected, and silly; I can't endure them. Why will you be so teasing?
CHARVILLE.
And are my expressions of attachment become teasing? A cold indifferent husband, then, would please you better. You reject the simple offering of a devoted heart: as my fondness increases, yours, alas! declines.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
Come, come; don't look so grave! I'll stick those foolish roses into my hair, if you will, though I am sure they are only fit for a holiday nosegay.
CHARVILLE.
I gathered them, Love.
MRS. CHARVILLE.
And I am sorry, Love, you had not the wit to gather better. They are such as a village school-mistress would strew in her drawer to sweeten her kerchiefs and aprons. They arc too full blown for the flower-pot on her window. But never mind; I'll wear them.
CHARVILLE.
I knew you would, for all your saucy words, mine own little Harry: and I'll tell thee what I'll do in return for all thy sweet condescension.
