CRAMPTON. Yes.

VALENTINE (strolling away to the bell). Well, you're quite hard
enough for me already---as a landlord. (Crampton receives this with a
growl of grim humor. Valentine rings the bell, and remarks in a
cheerful, casual way, whilst waiting for it to be answered.) Why did
you never get married, Mr. Crampton? A wife and children would have
taken some of the hardness out of you.

CRAMPTON (with unexpected ferocity). What the devil is that to you?
(The parlor maid appears at the door.)

VALENTINE (politely). Some warm water, please. (She retires: and
Valentine comes back to the cabinet, not at all put out by Crampton's
rudeness, and carries on the conversation whilst he selects a forceps
and places it ready to his hand with a gag and a drinking glass.) You
were asking me what the devil that was to me. Well, I have an idea of
getting married myself.

CRAMPTON (with grumbling irony). Naturally, sir, naturally. When a
young man has come to his last farthing, and is within twenty-four hours
of having his furniture distrained upon by his landlord, he marries.
I've noticed that before. Well, marry; and be miserable.

VALENTINE. Oh, come, what do you know about it?

CRAMPTON. I'm not a bachelor.

VALENTINE. Then there is a Mrs. Crampton?