(Dexter hands him the telegram.)
Mollen. (fumbling for his glasses) Yes—a little uncanny! (C.) But—fortunately for mankind, I make a good use of that power! (He adjusts his spectacles, opens the telegram, and reads) What, what!
Dexter. (R. C.) No bad news, sir, I hope?
Mollen. (L. C.) (fuming) Contareen! The ass, the triple ass! Engaged to Lady Gladys. I am d—— (going up C. and down R. C.)
Dexter. Sir?
Mollen. And he gloats! He dares to gloat!
Dexter. (R. C.) Any answer, sir? I have brought a form.
Mollen. Answer—no—no answer! Stay, though—there shall be—yes, there shall! Ah, he gloats, does he, that—moon-calf! Write, Dexter,—write! Sit here and write!
(Dexter sits R. C.)