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Mrs. Connage: Let’s look right away.

(They go out. Rosalind comes in with Gillespie.)

Gillespie: Rosalind—Once more I ask you. Don’t you care a blessed thing about me?

(Amory walks in briskly.)

Amory: My dance.

Rosalind: Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.

Gillespie: I’ve met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren’t you?

Amory: Yes.

Gillespie: (Desperately) I’ve been there. It’s in the—the Middle West, isn’t it?

Amory: (Spicily) Approximately. But I always felt that I’d rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

Gillespie: What!

Amory: Oh, no offense.

(Gillespie bows and leaves.)

Rosalind: He’s too much people.

Amory: I was in love with a people once.

Rosalind: So?

Amory: Oh, yes—her name was Isabelle—nothing at all to her except what I read into her.

Rosalind: What happened?

Amory: Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was—then she threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.

Rosalind: What do you mean impractical?

Amory: Oh—drive a car, but can’t change a tire.