Beatrice—And if it falters you must lean on my will for support, and make yourself as steadfast and determined as I am.
Alexandra—Yes, mother.
Beatrice—You know what I am referring to, and what it is I want. Do you want it as much as I do?
Alexandra—[Calmly, earnestly.] Yes, mother.
Beatrice—Wounded vanity heals quickly. After all, roses are more beautiful than cows.
Alexandra—Oh, mother
Beatrice—And there is no weapon more powerful than will. You understand me, my child?
Alexandra—I understand, but I don't know what you want me to do.
Beatrice—We mean to ask the professor to the ball to-night. You will invite him.
Alexandra—[Astonished.] I, mother?
Beatrice—Yes, you.
Alexandra—The professor?
Beatrice—Yes. [There are tears in her eyes.] I know it is a dreadful thing to ask of you, my child . . . but desperate necessity compels me to. Don't hate your mother for it, my poor, dear child . . . love me, for I love you so. . . .
Alexandra—[Calm and self-contained.] Mother!
Beatrice—[Dries her eyes.] Must I explain any further? You understand, don't you?
Alexandra—I understand you, mother.
