Grace. Yes, I do!
Mrs. S. Yes, she does, and you wouldn’t be brute enough to coerce her young affections, would you?
Sel. (savagely). Yes, I would! Young affections! Young fiddlesticks! (Crosses, R.)
Mrs. S. (going L., consoling Grace). Never mind, my child, your father is without poetry! and consequently without feeling! Ugh! you brute.
(Exeunt Grace and Mrs. Selwyn, L. U. E.
Sel. I will never sacrifice my Frederick! Never! Never! (Calling.) Dibbs!
Enter Dibbs, L. U. E.
Dibbs. Yessir!
Sel. Give the gentleman his card back, tell him to call again next year, say that we have got the sweeps or the measles in the house, at any rate get him to go! Where’s my felt hat?
Dibbs. Billycock, sir? Yessir!