Doctor (with uneasiness).—No, it is only probable. But speak of what concerns you.
Stella.—Well, then—ah, Lord! But you will not leave papa, will you?
Doctor (breathing heavily).—Oh, you wish to speak of the prince's health?
Stella.—No, I know that papa is getting better. I did not expect that it would be difficult—I am afraid of the severe opinion that you have of people.
Doctor (with simulated ease).—Pray, do not torture my curiosity.
Stella.—Then I will close my eyes and tell you, although it is not easy for any young girl. You know Mr. George Pretwic well, do you not?
Doctor (uneasily).—I know him.
Stella.—How do you like him? He is my fiancé.
Doctor (rising).—Your fiancé?
Stella.—Good gracious!—then you do not approve of my choice? (A moment of silence.)