Polly (indignantly). Yes, Polly—Polly Primrose. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You're a nice kind of a man, you are, pretending to be fond of me.
Bijah. Oh, come, Polly, I didn't mean any harm.
Polly. Oh no, no harm, of course not. Kissing every girl you meet. Don't speak to me—I'll never trust you or any other man again.
(Enter Potts and Roger.)
Potts. What is this? An indignation meeting? Bijah quarrelling with a pretty woman? No, yes, it is—Polly Primrose; but who is this? (Looking at Dor.)
Polly. That's my aunt, she came with me.
Roger. Poor old lady; she seems tired.
Polly. That she is; but she's never too tired to tell fortunes; wouldn't you like to hear yours?
Roger. Anything to kill time. (Goes to Dor.) Come, let's hear it. My time is short. (Looking about.) No danger of the colonel's appearance, is there, Potts?