Mollen. (comes C. a step) Your pardon, my child! You are, of course, the topmost blossom of the spreading tree. You have inherited, if I may say so, my mental energy.
Sir J. (C. fingering the book) I am disappointed that Lady Claude's photograph does not figure as frontispiece.
Mollen. Ha, ha, very good! (away R. and returning) But—in all seriousness (takes book), Balsted—it is a guide, a hand-book, a Baedeker! It conducts you personally to the most hidden recesses of the feminine heart, opens every door, strips every cupboard! (R. C.) No marriage license should be issued to the man who cannot pass his examination in Mollentrave! (Goes R. to table and puts book down) As a result there would be cobwebs in the Divorce Court! You practise there, by the way?
Sir J. Heaven forbid! No—I am on the Chancery side—
Mollen. (C.) Ah—that's a pity—I should have valued expert criticism. I am at present revising the book for its next edition—which will be the twenty-third!
Sir J. (C. on his L.) The twenty-third? Really!
Mollen. My dear sir, the work has been translated into every living tongue. I am told there are women's clubs where it is the custom solemnly to execrate me after dinner. In Dover Street "to be mollentraved" has passed into the language. It means—to be found out!
Lady C. (rising) Papa, we must not take up Sir Joseph's time.
Sir J. On the contrary! And my interviews with you have been too brief, these many years past, for me to desire to curtail them. Besides, I find myself to-day in a position of some perplexity—and truly, should value your advice!
Lady C. (archly) Mine—or papa's?