Bobbie (in anguish—moving slightly C.). Ask mother! But that's no use. Why, my mother could never make me care for someone I didn't want to, or not care for some one I did. Don't you see what I mean. If you are ever going to care for me you will have to do it on your own. Love isn't a thing to be ordered about at will. Love is wonderful—glorious, but above all, it's individual—you can't guide it. Why, you might fall in love with a taxi driver or a dope fiend——
Faith. Mother would never allow me to know a dope fiend.
Bobbie (L. of Chesterfield—firmly). But if you did, your mother's opinion wouldn't have any effect at all—not if you had it in your heart—really and truly.
Faith. Mother's disapproval might stop me falling in love.
Bobbie. No, it mightn't—nothing could stop it. On the contrary it would probably strengthen it; opposition always does.
Faith (doubtfully). Do you think so?
Bobbie. I'm sure of it, but anyhow, I'm going to tell you something.
(Mrs. Dermott appears at window L.C. with telegram.)
Mrs. Dermott. Bobbie, darling——
Bobbie (irritably). What is it, mother? (Goes up to window.)