Nio. To love is not a trouble, and they are so like Petramos.
Corn. (slight pause, he turns away slightly) She seems partial enough to Peter—(aloud—stooping down to her) Ahem! How—how did you come to hear of this place? Was it by accident—quite by chance you came here?
Nio. (looks round) By chance? Ah, yes!
Corn. Ah yes! You had no—(bends down—hurts back—gets chair from table, sits R., and stoops) You had no purpose beyond the ostensible—one—of occupying—the situation—you had—accepted. (speech disjointed and jerky)
Nio. Your speech is meaningless; to me but the empty rattle of a falling can.
Posing face in hands, elbows on stool.
Corn. (after regarding her suspiciously, turns to R.) She’s frank to a degree—(aloud—stooping) Ahem! You did not expect—you had no thought of finding me here?
Spoken in a conciliatory tone, trying to be agreeable.
Nio. (after regarding Corney disdainfully—perplexed) I’d rather Petramos should tell me what to say.