HER HUSBAND [too angry to tolerate a reply, and boring Henry more
and more towards the piano] You don't admire Mrs Bompas! You
would never dream of writing poems to Mrs Bompas! My wife's not
good enough for you, isn't she. [Fiercely] Who are you, pray,
that you should be so jolly superior?

HE. Mr Bompas: I can make allowances for your jealousy--

HER HUSBAND. Jealousy! do you suppose I'm jealous of YOU? No, nor
of ten like you. But if you think I'll stand here and let you
insult my wife in her own house, you're mistaken.

HE [very uncomfortable with his back against the piano and Teddy
standing over him threateningly] How can I convince you? Be
reasonable. I tell you my relations with Mrs Bompas are relations
of perfect coldness--of indifference--

HER HUSBAND [scornfully] Say it again: say it again. You're proud
of it, aren't you? Yah! You're not worth kicking.

Henry suddenly executes the feat known to pugilists as dipping,
and changes sides with Teddy, who it now between Henry and the
piano.

HE. Look here: I'm not going to stand this.

HER HUSBAND. Oh, you have some blood in your body after all! Good
job!

HE. This is ridiculous. I assure you Mrs. Bompas is quite--