Tom. Well, sir?
Sir H. The girl is illegitimate. (turning, L.)
Tom. What’s that?
Sir H. (turns and stares at him) Mr. Potter, you call yourself a Bohemian, but you are a distant—very distant—relative of my own, and you must have at least the instincts of a gentleman.
Tom. I hope so.
Sir H. Having those instincts, you will think no more of her.
Tom. Having those instincts, I think all the more of her.
Sir H. You’d marry her, after what I’ve told you? Then you have no respect for marriage.
Tom. If I had no respect for marriage I shouldn’t marry her.
Sir H. We will not argue, sir. Go your own way.