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Rosalind: (Offering her code, which is, in its way, quite as high as her mother’s) Mother, it’s done—you can’t run everything now the way you did in the early nineties.

Mrs. Connage: (Paying no attention) There are several bachelor friends of your father’s that I want you to meet to-night—youngish men.

Rosalind: (Nodding wisely) About forty-five?

Mrs. Connage: (Sharply) Why not?

Rosalind: Oh, quite all right—they know life and are so adorably tired looking (shakes her head)—but they will dance.

Mrs. Connage: I haven’t met Mr. Blaine—but I don’t think you’ll care for him. He doesn’t sound like a money-maker.

Rosalind: Mother, I never think about money.

Mrs. Connage: You never keep it long enough to think about it[.]

Rosalind: (Sighs) Yes, I suppose some day I’ll marry a ton of it—out of sheer boredom.

Mrs. Connage: (Referring to note-book) I had a wire from Hartford. Dawson Ryder is coming up. Now there’s a young man I like, and he’s floating in money. It seems to me that since you seem tired of Howard Gillespie you might give Mr. Ryder some encouragement. This is the third time he’s been up in a month.