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through lunch. He thought perhaps he was one of these hollow optimists.
FIVE WEEKS LATER
Again the library of the Connage house. ROSALIND is alone, sitting
on the lounge staring very moodily and unhappily at nothing. She has
changed perceptibly--she is a trifle thinner for one thing; the light in
her eyes is not so bright; she looks easily a year older.
Her mother comes in, muffled in an opera-cloak. She takes in ROSALIND
with a nervous glance.
MRS. CONNAGE: Who is coming to-night?
(ROSALIND fails to hear her, at least takes no notice.)
MRS. CONNAGE: Alec is coming up to take me to this Barrie play, "Et tu,
Brutus." (She perceives that she is talking to herself.) Rosalind! I
asked you who is coming to-night?
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
ROSALIND: (With a very weary expression that is quite new to her face.)
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
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.)
ROSALIND: For heaven's sake, mother--
(A maid appears, announces Mr. Blaine who follows immediately. AMORY'S
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