Minnie. I do call it a shame. Horace is the meanest, most selfish——
Aunt. Quite right, dear, he is.
Minnie. He thinks of nothing but his books, and his papers, and his horrid little stars.
Aunt. Quite true, dear, he does.
Minnie. Then why do you let him do it?
Aunt. I?
Minnie. Yes, you. You know he is engaged to me, and yet you allow him to treat me as if we had been married for years. (Up to window.)
Aunt. My dear Minnie—(Sits L. of table)—if Horace is a little thoughtless, surely it isn’t my fault. I suppose he has forgotten all about the dance——
Minnie. Forgotten! (Comes C.) I’ll tell you what it is. Aunt Martha, you will have to go instead. (Goes to fire.)
Aunt. Minnie, I can’t. You know, dear, it is quite impossible.