ARTH. (_seeing SIR FELIX, who is making energetic signs to him to proceed with his love-making. Aside_). Well, since he will insist upon it, here goes! (_Aloud, and in an ultra impassioned tone._) Loveliest of women!--pardon the apparent insanity of the remark--I love you! adore you! in fact, I rather like you! Behold me at your feet! (_flopping down on one knee. Here SIR F. reaches over and tickles COSEY with the feather brush, who starts up and shows his head above the back of couch; then, seeing he is not alone, withdraws his head again out of sight_). LADY F. (_with pretended emotion_). Love me, Mr. Vallance? (_Aside._) So this is the "little game," is it? (_Aloud._) Well, is that all? ARTH. All? (_Aside_). And pretty well too, I think; what the deuce _would_ she have? (_Aloud, and very enthusiastically._) No, madam, it is _not_ all! I've only just begun! Oh, could you but know the conflicting emotions, the agony, the despair-- (_counting on his fingers. Aside._) I forgot the rest! (_Aloud._) Say, say that you love me in return! (_seizing her hand_). LADY F. (_with pretended emotion_). Oh, Mr. Vallance, you're too vehement; release my hand! ARTH. (_aside_). Release her hand! Come, I like that! I wish she'd let go of _mine_ (_trying to disengage his hand, then catching another glimpse of SIR F., who by signs encourages him to proceed. Aloud_). Release this hand? Not till I've finished! Loved one! let us fly; horses are waiting--flashing express--distant clime--Seringapatam--Madagascar--the Sandwich Islands--anywhere. LADY F. (_with pretended emotion and an affecting faintness_). A sudden faintness (_leaning against VALLANCE_); oh, support me! SIR F. (_looking out_). Holloa! holloa! LADY F. (_looking up in ARTHUR'S face, and with mock sentimentality_). Oh! Arthur, Arthur! SIR F. (_behind_). Damn it, she calls him Arthur! ARTH. (_aside_). I've been getting on _too_ fast! LADY F. (_pathetically to VALLANCE_). Spare my blushes; I guess all you would say. ARTH. (_aside_). Do you? That's lucky, for _I'm_ regularly stumped. LADY F. (_suddenly grasping VALLANCE by the wrist and dragging him forward, almost upsetting him_). Listen! my husband is not unkind, though he might be kinder; he is not ill-looking, indeed, he _might_ be uglier; _but_ he has one terrible defect. (_SIR F. here leans forward and listens._) He really flatters himself that he possesses a fund of wit; that he is literally running over with fun; whereas the poor man really doesn't possess a single particle of either. It's very sad, isn't it? ARTH. Melancholy in the extreme. LADY F. And I'm sure, as for humor-- ARTH. He's just about as much in him as an old cab horse! (_FELIX shakes his fist at VALLANCE._)