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Rosalind: (Starting) Oh—what—oh—Amory——

Mrs. Connage: (Sarcastically) You have so many admirers lately that I couldn’t imagine which one. (Rosalind doesn’t answer.) Dawson Ryder is more patient than I thought he’d be. You haven’t given him an evening this week.

Rosalind: (With a very weary expression that is quite new to her face.) Mother—please——

Mrs. Connage: Oh, I won’t interfere. You’ve already wasted over two months on a theoretical genius who hasn’t a penny to his name, but go ahead, waste your life on him. I won’t interfere.

Rosalind: (As if repeating a tiresome lesson) You know he has a little income—and you know he’s earning thirty-five dollars a week in advertising——

Mrs. Connage: And it wouldn’t buy your clothes. (She pauses but Rosalind makes no reply.) I have your best interests at heart when I tell you not to take a step you’ll spend your days regretting. It’s not as if your father could help you. Things have been hard for him lately and he’s an old man. You’d be dependent absolutely on a dreamer, a nice, well-born boy, but a dreamer—merely clever. (She implies that this quality in itself is rather vicious.)