Barlow. Let me speak, Miss Andrews. I—
Yardsley. You haven't anything to do with the subject in hand, my dear Barlow, not a thing.
Dorothy. Jennie—what—what have you to say?
Jennie. Me? Oh, mum, I hardly knows what to say! This is suddenter than the other; but, Miss Dorothy, I'd believe him, I would, because—I—I think he's tellin' the truth, after all, for the reason that—oh dear—for—
Dorothy. Don't be frightened, Jennie. For what reason?
Jennie. Well, mum, for the reason that when I said "yes," mum, he didn't act like all the other gentlemen I've said yes to, and—and k-kuk-kiss me.
Yardsley. That's it! that's it! Do you suppose that if I'd been after Jennie's yes, and got it, I'd have let a door-bell and a sofa stand between me and—the sealing of the proposal?
Barlow (aside). Oh, what nonsense this all is! I've got to get ahead of this fellow in some way. (Aloud.) Well, where do I come in? I came here, Miss Andrews, to tell you—
Yardsley (interposing). You come in where you came in before—just a little late—after the proposal, as it were.
Dorothy (her face clearing and wreathing with smiles). What a comedy of errors it has all been! I—I believe you, Mr. Yardsley.