Go right on—don't mind me.
Theodore
[old-friend manner]
See here! When are you ever going to marry?
Ernest
[modern bachelor's laugh]
When am I ever going to get more than two thousand a year?
Theodore
Bah! what has money got to do with it! Just you wait till the right one comes along.
[Helen comes along, stealing up the steps from the garden on tiptoe with the grave, absorbed look of a hunter stalking game. She catches sight of the man she wants and stops short, as motionless as if frozen. But not so! Her lovely hands were poised; one of them now goes to her bosom and presses there. There is nothing icy about this New Woman now.