SIR J. (_slowly_) Everard has fallen--in love--with you?
SIR J. (_dully, down_ R. C. _and sitting_) Very awkward. Very.
LADY C. (C.) How could one conceive it! I've been sympathetic--that's all! Talked about Margaret! Oh, I assure you, I've done nothing but talk about Margaret!
SIR J. There's something odd about boys and girls nowadays. But, of course, it's all Mollentrave--(_he clenches his fist_)
LADY C. What must I do? Tell me--advise me!
SIR J. You see, things are just a trifle topsy-turvy. My--bride--grows more and more devoted.
LADY C. I'm completely bewildered! The poor boy seemed terribly in earnest--
SIR J. So does the poor girl! I'd like to shake them both in a bag! Well, _you'll_ have a week of it now.
SIR J. You'd better accept him--why not? You'll find, we'll both have to marry them. Then, some day perhaps, they'll elope together--and Mollentrave on Women will rub his hands and cry "There!"
LADY C. (_very distressed_) What am I to say to Everard? Oh, what?
LADY C. (_indignantly_) Sir Joseph! Is this your sympathy? (_sit_ L.)
SIR J. (_meekly and deprecatingly, rise and to_ L. C.) My dear friend, I've had seven days of Margaret. I thought my brain was fairly strong --but it's giving. I tell you I'm growing helpless--turning to pulp--
SIR J. I can't. You know--it sounds absurd--I did have some hopes of marrying you myself--I did indeed. (_away_ R.) Well, now Everard claims you--and I shall soon be led by Margaret to the altar, with Miss Treable propping me up on the other side. We can't do anything--that's how matters are!
LADY C. Do you think _I_ will marry Everard?
SIR J. (_helplessly sit_ R. C.) I don't know--I don't think at all. Mollentrave does the thinking--Mollentrave!
(MOLLENTRAVE _bustles in, beaming_, R. 3 E.)
MOLLEN. (C.) (_looking wonderingly from one to the other_) Dear me, why this air of depression?
LADY C. (_both rise and up to knoll_) Depression! Papa! Have you seen Everard?
SIR J. } (_excitedly_) Well? Well? LADY C.}
MOLLEN. (_looking from one to the other_) Rosamund! Balsted! You surely wouldn't have me believe that you are not pleased?
MOLLEN. (_emphatically_) Yes, sir, I say pleased--at this magnificent development of my scheme!
MOLLEN. (_more in sorrow than in anger_) Amazing! _You_, Balsted, you--well--you don't surprise me. But Rosamund--my own child--no, I should not have believed it!