Tom.
[To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part.] Miss Brewster.
O'Dwyer.
[Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being towards him.] Come here, my love.
Tom.
[To O'Dwyer.] No, no, O'Dwyer—not your "love."
O'Dwyer.
[Perplexed.] Not?
Tom.
No.