Hyacinth—That is a new number.
Beatrice—Yes, my dear. I invented it myself. A mother's invention.
Hyacinth—I see. So she is just "and twenty."
Beatrice—But she can't stay that way indefinitely. She is ripening. In a political family that wouldn't matter. But our daughters must be beautiful. My conscience has troubled me for making the poor girl wait as long as she has.
Hyacinth—One can't blame you for that. You are a devoted mother, my dear. But you are aware that our lives are ordered not for the individual's but for the family's good. The happiest royal family may be composed of unhappy individuals.
Beatrice—Poor Xara.
Hyacinth—Who is that?
Beatrice—Alexandra!
Hyacinth—Is that what you call her now?
Beatrice—[To Symphorosa, who is entering.] Well?
Symphorosa—The situation is unaltered. [She exits.]
Beatrice—Karl, I want you to help us.
Hyacinth—I? But, my angel, what can I do?
Beatrice—You, with your charming personality
Hyacinth—But, my dear child, it isn't me you want him to marry.
