Mollen. (quickly) A mistake! They never are children!—How old is she?
Sir J. Eighteen, I believe—or nineteen, perhaps—possibly twenty.
Mollen. Of the sentimental order?
Sir J. (laughing) Truly, I've no idea!
Mollen. At least you can tell me her taste in literature?
Sir J. (searching in his memory) Literature? She reads a good deal—though what, I've no notion. Stay, though—I remember, one night when I couldn't sleep, taking a book of hers upstairs, and having a superb night's rest. It was Somebody's Love-Letters.
Lady C. The Englishwoman's?
Sir J. Yes. That was it.
Mollen. Good. Were passages marked?