Mrs. Dot.

You know, you’ve got to marry me. I insist upon it. After all, you’ve been trifling with my affections shamefully. Oh, we shall be so happy, Gerald. And we’ll never grow any older than we are now. You know, I’m an awfully good sort, really. I talk a lot of nonsense, but I don’t mean it. I very seldom listen to it myself. I’m sick of society. I want to settle down and be domesticated. I’ll sit at home and darn your socks. And I shall hate it, and I shall be so happy. And if you want to be independent you can have a job at the brewery. We want a smart energetic man to keep us up to the times. And we’ll have a lovely box at the opera, and you can always get away for the shooting.

[A ring is heard.

Gerald.

There they are.

Mrs. Dot.

Good heavens! I quite forgot about those wretched people in there.

[She opens the door of the dining-room.

Mrs. Dot.

I don’t want to disturb you, but if you’ve quite finished your conversation perhaps you’d like to come and have tea.