Mollen. (glancing severely at him over his spectacles) Dexter, this is not the first time you have offended in this fashion. I beg it may be the last.
Dexter. (contritely) Sir—
Mollen. Let me remind you that marriage was not invented merely to give the comic man a chance. Not a word, not a word—we need say no more. (Rise, crosses to bookshelves R. taking out book) I want a new sub-title—something symbolic, tasteful, and yet adapted to the gravity of the situation.
Dexter. How would "stage" do, sir?
Mollen. It savours of the theatre. My work has a large circulation among Nonconformists.
Dexter. "Phase," sir?
Mollen. (across to L. back of table) Invariably associated with the moon, or Napoleon. I seek a word that shall happily suggest the first disillusions of the young couple. Stay, I have it! The "Marriage Links" we will call it—there you have the symbol—and for sub-title:—(down L.) "The First Bunker." (Mollentrave rubs his hands, delighted at his invention)
(Martin the butler enters with Lord Contareen, a well-groomed, vacuous-looking man of forty.)
Mollen. The First Bunk—(sees Contareen reproachfully, crossing to up R. C. front of table) Contareen! You here! That's wrong!
(They shake hands, Dexter rises.)