exits at right.] I hear you were up late last night, dissipating with Albert. He likes that.
Beatrice—Oh . . . he is so gracious . . . so easy to entertain. . . .
Dominica—Don't be modest. I daresay you contrived all sorts of schemes to amuse and entertain him.
Beatrice—[Bitterly.] We did our best, of course.
Dominica—And now, my dear, let us come to the point. I am a simple, practical woman, you know. They haven't nicknamed me "the cook" in Vienna for nothing.
Beatrice—Oh!
Dominica—Tut, tut! I know that's what they call me, and I am proud of it. But, first of all, give me a nice kiss. [They stand up and kiss.] That's right! [They sit.] And now to business. You realize why I am here.
Beatrice—Oh, Dominica!
Dominica—In a word: My son wishes to marry your daughter. [They rise again, kiss, and sit down. Beatrice weeps.]
Dominica—Don't cry, Beatrice. This is nothing to cry about.
Beatrice—No, certainly not . . . but I am so overwhelmed.
Dominica—Compose yourself, dear. Albert tele-
