Kathryn. Jack—your father!
Jack. I am not his son, and he is not my father. I consider his presence an intrusion, a disgrace. You shall be unfrocked, sir, at the first opportunity.
Hargrave (marching up to Jane). How dare you, sir! How dare you speak so disrespectfully of your father!
Jane. Mr. Hargrave, I am not your son—although you certainly do look familiar. (Hargrave has floundered to the other end of the room and is being cared for by Dill, who mops his face with a big handkerchief.)
Jack. I know, father, there's great suffering among the rich in this hot weather. Do you think you'd still care to marry him, Jane?
Jane. I'm not sure, Jack. Your father looks very much like someone I almost married before.
Jack. Ah, in that case you'd hardly care to repeat the experiment. (Waves to them.) Goodbye, Kathryn. Come soon and find his glasses.
Kathryn. No, I'd rather read my letter.
Jane. I'm not a bad looker, Jack. And I have a new high hat which reaches to Heaven.
Jack. No more than mine, Jane. It's from the Alps. (Takes his arm.) This way, father. You don't drink tea anyway. (They go out. Jane strolls off.)