Dominica—How terrible!
Hyacinth—And we all suffered with her . . . her mother, I, the boys, the professor.
Dominica—[Suspiciously.] What professor?
Hyacinth—[Mopping his brow.] That's just it. [With a glance at Beatrice.] There is a teacher here, a tutor to the boys. A nice, cultured straightforward young man. And he . . . well . . . toward the end . . . when everyone was desperate . . . an extraordinary thing occurred, which was, indeed, only another proof of the adoration in which your son
Beatrice—[Terrified; beseechingly.] Karl!
Dominica—Go on.
Hyacinth—With characteristic feminine logic it was deemed expedient to invite the professor to last night's reception . . . in order to stimulate Albert's interest a bit. A stupid idea, of course . . . but from it you can glean the somewhat ecstatic regard in which your son is held here.
Dominica—What a charming, naïve idea!
Hyacinth—Wasn't it? [Flashes Beatrice a triumphant glance.] Yes, and then came something which hadn't been reckoned with. This professor—a fine, a serious, a most estimable young man—it appeared that he—think of it—that he had been secretly in love with Alexandra. [In terror Beatrice rises. There is a brief pause.]
