SIR J. (_rising_, MOLLEN. _sits him again_) Engaged! You're mad!
MOLLEN. (_round back of_ C. _table_) Secret engagement! You tell her--paternal again--you give her a month to reflect. Secrecy all round--except us. You bound--she free.
MOLLEN. Follow me closely. (_to_ L. _of table_ C.) During that month you become--senile.
SIR J. Senile! Why, hang it, I'm only forty-five!
MOLLEN. And she's nineteen! Strip off your limelight--to her you're Methuselah! (_sitting_ L. _of_ C. _table_.)
MOLLEN. (_breaking in impetuously_) My dear friend, you don't really imagine that she loves _you_? Whatever's real in her loves Everard--or any other good-looking young fellow of his age whom she chances to meet. What she admires in you is your talent, your position, your power. Very well, take them off!
MOLLEN. I've told you--be senile. Fidgety, crotchety--sensitive to draughts--dyspeptic--adore your food. Flannel nightcap--false teeth--
Speak of them often! Boil your milk! Retire at nine, have your paper warmed. Tell her you mean to resign the House, give up the Bar, live in the country, ten miles from a station, and write a book on Constitutional Law!
MOLLEN. And dictate to her five hours a day! Find fault with her spelling--be always finding fault!
SIR J. Lively for both of us! But look here--seeing that she has lived with me for a year, and I _haven't_ been senile--
MOLLEN. (_with a petulant gesture_) Tut, tut, tut! Hitherto, you've concealed your--little ailments! But, now that you've won her, are sure of her, you show yourself--as you are! (_rise_) Oh, it's simple enough! And so much for frontal attack. (_a step_) As for skirmishes, we'll ask Rosamund to be good enough to flirt with the nephew--
LADY C. (_merrily_) The poor boy will need consolation. And if I can be of service--
MOLLEN. (_up to_ L. _of table_ C. _with a flourish_) Within two days she has the boy at her feet! Then your bride becomes jealous. Your tyranny offends her--she begins to see you are old. Romance drops off like paper from a damp wall. Everard's coolness piqued her--she proceeds to discover that she loves Everard. You in dressing gown and slippers--he young Greek god. And, after a month's steady digging--we arrive--at--the real girl!