Pan. Would you deny it?
Ben. Well, no—I was young and impetuous in those days, and had not much sense—or indeed none at all.
Pan. That is not the case—you were not altogether without sense.... It is true you had your little eccentricities—but, after all....
Ben. And you never paid the slightest attention to my words....
Pan. That is not true! I always attended to you—I always had the greatest consideration for you, I assure you; and it gives me more pleasure than I can express to find you here again.
(They shake hands again.)
Pao. (aside to Benini). My word! I have never yet seen him receive any one so well!
Pan. You must come to see my wife.
Ben. I do not know whether Signora Angelica will be disposed to welcome me after all these years.
Pan. Of course she will! I’ll answer for that! Why—an intimate friend of mine! Yet she does everything she possibly can to contradict and oppose me, that woman!—She has not a bad disposition—I would not say that; but it is a certain perversity of humour. Just imagine that, at this very moment, when all the visitors present in the place are going to assemble in these rooms, she could find no better way of spending her time than in going off for a long walk on the beach. Never lets herself be seen—persists in withdrawing from society—mere madness, I call it!... We have a daughter, and if this sort of thing goes on, how shall we ever get her settled in life?