A Little Change: A Farce in One Scene

ETHEL. Ten days, three and twenty hours, and sixteen minutes. Does it seem that long?

EDWIN. My darling, seem that long! How can you ask such questions? I should think it doesn't. I declare, it only seems about three weeks!

ETHEL. Three weeks!

EDWIN. No, no! Did I say three weeks? I beg your pardon, I meant days.

ETHEL. I don't believe you did!

EDWIN. O yes, my dear, indeed I meant to say days.

ETHEL. You're not tired of me already, are you?

EDWIN. My dear Ethel, that's the twenty-second time you've asked me whether I'm not tired of you.

ETHEL. Well, you're not, are you?

EDWIN. I'm not tired of you, my darling, but I'm getting very tired of saying so, and I'm most tired of all of this confounded neighbourhood.

ETHEL. Oh, Edwin, it's the most delightful place I ever saw! Why, everybody says the scenery about here is the very scenery to pass through.

EDWIN. I am quite of their opinion. It is certainly not scenery to stop in.

ETHEL. And the chambermaid was telling me this morning how delighted everybody was who went away.

EDWIN. I can completely sympathise with them; I'm sure I shall be charmed when I go.

ETHEL. Why, what would you have? There are the loveliest sunsets.

EDWIN. Now, that's just what I object to. I don't like the suns about here; these blazing agricultural suns make such a fuss about retiring for the night. They're not content unless they've everybody looking at 'em. Now, a respectable manufacturing sun gets behind a good thick cloud when it goes to bed; and I must say I think that's much more reputable.

ETHEL. Then the moons. You must confess the moons here are the loveliest imaginable.

EDWIN. Then, that stupid old moon. Now, can anything be more absurd than standing on a balcony and staring at the same old moon night after night?

ETHEL. Edwin, how can you talk about the same old moon, when there's a new one every month?

EDWIN. A pretty swindle that is, too! A new one every month. That's just as like the one that went before it, as the one that'll come after it. I like a little change.

ETHEL. You didn't cut the moon up that way once. You used to look at it for hours. You were quite smitten with it then.

EDWIN. I freely grant that if I stood and gazed at it for hours, I must have been considerably struck by it.

ETHEL. Oh, Edwin dear, don't you remember that night in particular----

EDWIN. Do I remember that night? Oh, Ethel, shall I ever forget that night--that night when--by the by, my dear, which night were you alluding to?

ETHEL. I said that one in particular.

EDWIN. Precisely so, my love, but then there were so many ones in particular, and all are so indelibly impressed upon my memory, I can't remember one of them.

ETHEL. I can remember all of them. Your saying that you'd rather have me than all the world.

EDWIN. Did I say that?

ETHEL. Twice over: for I asked you if you were quite sure.