Helena. (To table) Oh, Mr. Manager, I’m so interested in your factory. (She sits R. of table.)
Domin. I’m sorry, Miss Glory, it’s strictly forbidden. The manufacture of artificial people is a secret.
Helena. But to oblige the young lady who has come a long way.
Domin. (Leans on table) Certainly, Miss Glory. I have no secrets from you.
Helena. Are you sure, Harry? (Leaning on desk, seriously, his right hand on hers.)
Domin. Yes. (They gradually draw apart.)
Helena. But I warn you, sir, this young lady intends to do terrible things.
Domin. Good gracious, Miss Glory. Perhaps she doesn’t want to marry me.
Helena. Heaven forbid. She never dreamt of such a thing. But she came here intending to stir up a revolt among your Robots.
Domin. A revolt of the Robots!