MRS. TIMBRELL. [Outside.] I know the way, thank you.
[She enters carrying a little bunch of flowers.]
MARY. Here’s my mother and father.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Oh! how d’ye do. [She shakes hands.] I don’t know why we’ve never met before.
BROOME. We’ve never been here before.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Haven’t you? I’ve not been many times. We must come oftener. [She smiles embarrassments away.]
BROOME. Of course. I see ma’am that you’re not like to think as your son and my daughter’s a fair match but I tell you—
MRS. BROOME. Now, John.
MRS. TIMBRELL. It’s a very good match for him.
BROOME. Eh?