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The Worsted Man pillowy head or fray my button - hole coign of vision by the shedding of an excelsior tear. Babette. (Aside.) He is simply fasci nating. Marianna. Shakespeare could be no worse. Janette. If his brains are cotton, send me a man with a bale. Ethelinda. Ain t he grand! Doll. Have any of you ladies got hearts ? Impatience. All of us have them. Doll. Lend me a few just to play with, won t you? You certainly don t all need them this morning, do you? Marianna. Hearts are not to be played with, Mr. Woolley. But tell us what is your notion of love ? Doll. Love ? Well, let me see (reflecting) love is a mystery, eh? It is to me, anyhow. But as I think about it, it s like this:
