Hargrave (in a most melancholy voice). Jack, this is terrible. I had never expected that. Jane Gibbs!
Jack. The name's no worse than Jack, father. Too bad Jane's not a socialist, and could exchange for a number.
Hargrave. She is a socialist, Jack. Oh, a horrible, horrible socialist! Did I never tell you of a woman? whose views of life—
Jack. Are not so antiquated as your own, sir? (There comes a tinkle of the bell, a second and a third.) But come, father, one should always give in to the inevitable, and I have chosen Jane as your most likely spouse.
Hargrave. I will not marry that woman! I will not! (Jack throws open the door and Jane enters. She has on a gown of many colors and a hat of many heights.)
Jack. Ah, Jane! So glad to see you! I've just been speaking to father about that matter we discussed and he's quite interested already. Fact is, father's always interested, though interesting he is not. I've taken him to task about that blunder, though. Father's a bull for blunders. In the morning I've suggested that he be unfrocked. You'll be there of course? Great sight. (Facing about.) Why don't you say something, father! Or should fathers be seen and not heard? But perhaps you desire an introduction. Jane—my father. My father—Jane Gibbs. (Each are about to shake hands, but Jack's body intervenes and he rambles on.) The family problem is the most important product of this age, and ranks even higher than the servant question. Of course, fathers were fashionable at one time, or I never should have had one. It's a great fault, though, I admit.
Jane (loosening wrap). My faults are my fortune, Jack. Some people are even famous for them.
Jack. Ravishing, Jane, ravishing! (Plays with dress, avoiding Hargrave.) But perhaps I should go.
Jane. Probably you should go, Jack.
Hargrave. It is not problematical at all. It is obvious, sir. (Jack runs around the table.) My son has a roving nature, Jane; it is almost poetical. I've just advised an interview with a certain tree, a rather poetical tree. He is a near poet, you know.