Barlow. Hicks?
Dorothy. Jennie, Hicks isn't Bob. His name is George.
Yardsley (in a despairing rage). Hicks be—
Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley!
Yardsley (pulling himself together again). Bobbed. Hicks be Bobbed. That's what I was going to say.
Dorothy. What on earth does this all mean? I must have an explanation, Jennie. What have you to say for yourself?
Jennie. Why, I—
Yardsley. I tell you it isn't true. She's made it up out of whole cloth.
Barlow. What isn't true? She hasn't said anything yet.
Yardsley (desperately). I refer to what she's going to say. I'm a—a—I'm a mind-reader, and I see it all as plain as day.