Mollen. Has she spoken about him?
Sir J. Yes—she wants to find him a wife.
Mollen. And not a word about Rosamund?
Sir J. She thinks Lady Claude flirts with him, and doesn't seem to like it. But, beyond that—
Mollen. (triumphantly) Beyond that! And you complain! Balsted, that's love! The real girl creeping up, through the cotton wool! My dear fellow! Couldn't be better! It couldn't indeed!
Sir J. I don't know—she didn't speak like that at all. And the boy has been odd—he avoids me—he doesn't address one word to Margaret—
Mollen. (with emphasis) The boy follows the rule! He nurses his passion. Rosamund consoles him—she always talks about Margaret! What more do you want? And the girl thinks they flirt! He watches her hungrily—oh, I've observed it!—he waits for his hour. You'll see.
Sir J. (with a gleam of hope) You really think that? You really think that?
Mollen. (sits on Joseph's L.) I give you my word I never believed matters could be so far advanced.
Sir J. Then perhaps I had better go on?