HOBSON. Then I've a choice for you two. Vickey, you I'm talking to, and Alice. You'll become sane if you're going on living here. You'll control this uppishness that's growing on you. And if you don't, you'll get out of this, and exercise your gifts on some one else than me. You don't know when you're well off. But you'll learn it when I'm done with you. I'll choose a pair of husbands for you, my girls. That's what I'll do.
ALICE. Can't we choose husbands for ourselves?
HOBSON. I've been telling you for the last five minutes you're not even fit to choose dresses for yourselves.
MAGGIE. You're talking a lot to Vickey and Alice, father. Where do I come in?
HOBSON. You? (Turning on her, astonished.)
MAGGIE. If you're dealing husbands round, don't I get one?
HOBSON. Well, that's a good one! (Laughs.) You with a husband! (Down in front of desk.)
MAGGIE. Why not?
HOBSON. Why not? I thought you'd sense enough to know. But if you want the brutal truth, you're past the marrying age. You're a proper old maid, Maggie, if ever there was one.
MAGGIE. I'm thirty.