FRANK. Yes, ma’am, I am a widow.
ADELA. But Dunstable wrote to me that she was young and pretty; and you are as old as the hills.
FRANK. Oh, no! but I have seen so much trouble.
ADELA. And you are ugly—downright ugly.
FRANK. Well, beauty is all a matter of opinion.
ADELA. And look here, what is this? (taking FRANK by the arm and making him pass before her) Wine, cigars, a pipe, in my house! gracious goodness!
FRANK. (L. C.) I was going to tell you—it’s your grandson.
ADELA. (R. C.) My grandson?
FRANK. Yes, Harry—he is here—and the pipe— (aside) I shall bolt. (aloud) I will inform him of your arrival.