Dear Ronald, you might be eighteen.
[Arthur comes in with Henry Pritchard. This is Christina's son, a pleasant, clean young man, but in no way remarkable.]
Arthur.
Henry tells me he's come to fetch you away, Christina.
Christina.
So you lose not a moment in bringing him here.
Arthur.
Really, Christina, you do me an injustice. I can't bear to think you should be parted from your precious boy an instant longer than necessary.
Henry.
[Shaking hands with Violet.] How is my stately aunt?