Sir J. Both! Please sit down. Will you listen to my tale of woe?
(Lady C. sits settee L.)
Mollen. Gladly. It is the least we can do for you, after your magnificent service. (Mol. gets chair R. C. and sits)
(They sit.)
Sir J. (sits up C. front of desk) Well then, here goes! As you are aware, I am unmarried. Many years ago (he looks at Lady Claude who drops her eyes) I loved a lady, who, very wisely, preferred another. (Mollentrave points waggishly to the book) Ah, Mr. Mollentrave, had I then been able to consult your work!
Mollen. I was labouring at it for twenty years before I gave it to the world.
Sir J. My misfortune to have been born too soon! Well, I settled down to single blessedness, and worked hard. My existence was tranquil. An elderly lady, widow of a man I had known, kept house for me, and left me undisturbed. My life was all work, with an occasional game at bridge. I had never been a ... lady's man ... the sex did not—let us say, appreciate me—and I, while admiring them from a distance, have avoided their closer neighborhood.
Mollen. My dear friend, you have denied yourself one of the most fruitful sources of amusement!
Sir J. That may be, but I am constitutionally shy. And law and politics, you see, took up all my time—I settled down—contentedly enough, into old fogeydom. My one care was a nephew, a good lad, who walked the hospitals and has just passed his final exam. Well, so far all was untroubled. But now comes the catastrophe. A year ago an old friend of mine died in Australia—a companion of my boyhood—and bequeathed me—his daughter!
Mollen. (alert) Ah!