Sir J. His motherless daughter! I received her letter by the morning's post—she came in the afternoon! A girl! Imagine it! My austere dwelling invaded by a bouncing, flouncing girl!
Mollen. (chuckling) Terrible!
Sir J. It was terrible. Lady Claude will excuse me—
Lady C. (smiling) Oh yes!
Sir J. My feelings at that moment could only be expressed in camera. There was no way out—he had appointed me her guardian—it was a sacred trust—I could do nothing. (rise) She was too old to send to school—too young to live alone. And here was I, to whom girls are esoteric, mysterious things, of strange, uncanny ways—I, who don't know what to say to them, how to feed them or amuse them, I who go into no society, have no small-talk, don't dance or play ping-pong—here was I suddenly overwhelmed by this avalanche of laces and muslins!
Mollen. Heaven sent you a full-grown daughter, without the expensive preliminaries!
Sir J. Let us hope Heaven meant it kindly—but there are occasions, doubtless, when even Providence nods! Well, after a considerable struggle with myself, I accepted the inevitable. I moved from my comfortable bachelor's quarters, took this house, found her a companion—who at once proceeded to quarrel with the housekeeper. I had to dismiss her and engage another—the same story! (sits on settee L. by Lady C.) In twelve months I have had five companions. To-day another disturbance—for the sixth time I am bidden choose between them—and I had hoped to go to Scotland to-morrow. This may all sound very trivial—but truly I'm in despair!
Lady C. (laughing) Poor Sir Joseph!
Mollen. (rise and go L. C. Earnestly) My dear child, I can enter into our friend's feelings—this is no laughing matter!—Tell me now, Balsted—what is she like, your ward?
Sir J. (puzzled) Like? Like all other girls, I imagine. I scarcely have looked at her. Pretty, I suppose, in a feeble kind of way. I have said good morning and good evening, taken her to an occasional theatre, and allowed her to prattle. She is only a child.