Mary. Oh, it’s just that I’ve been very blue-eyed and baby-faced.
Martin. I guess you’re right!
Mary. Of course I am. When I break our engagement he may feel sort of lonely for a while and give up women forever, but pretty soon some charming girl of his world will come along—some limousine lady, and they’ll live happy ever after.
Martin. I sort of begin to wish this marriage were going to be on the level.
Mary. It wouldn’t work out. I’m a business woman. Even if your son did love me—really love—I wouldn’t marry him. Just now he’s twenty-four with an India-rubber heart that is easy to stretch and easier to snap back. All boys at twenty-four are like that.
Martin. (Reminiscently) I guess so. I remember when I was a young man, there was a girl ... my heart was broken for a week—perhaps ten days. I went down to the club one night and got spifflicated—however, however—(Abruptly changing the subject) What’s my son going to work at?
Mary. I don’t know yet.
Martin. Do you think he’ll make good?
Mary. He will if he keeps at it. (Rises and goes R.)