Mrs. O’Farrel.
There must be at least half a dozen flies on Patricia’s face.
Dean.
Never mind the flies—it’s their turn for the moment.... Why did you refuse me, Eileen?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Because my love for you made me a blind fool! I misunderstood your admiration for women. I thought your homage of every girl you met, personal—not universal, as I learned too late—a superb compliment to the whole sex. Dear friend, I repented in sackcloth and ashes! Not that O’Farrel wasn’t a good fellow, every inch of him. He made life very happy. But life with you—well, I missed it!
Dean.
Will you marry me, Eileen?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
No.