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. (
