Dominica—[Emphatically.] Such things happen. [Reassured, Beatrice sits down.]
Hyacinth—[With a triumphant glance at Beatrice.] Yes, and no wonder. He sees her every day. She is beautiful. The rest was inevitable. Think of all those ancient romances of the Tutor and the Princess
Dominica—What then?
Hyacinth—Put yourself in this poor young man's place. Though desperately in love, he lends himself to this innocent deception, knowing, poor fellow, that he is only a means to an end.
Dominica—It was all Albert's fault. Why did he hesitate to speak? I consider his reticence exaggerated under the circumstances.
Hyacinth—Remember it was out of consideration for you. Really, Albert's devotion to you borders on the fantastic.
Dominica—After all, it is gratifying. [With tears in her eyes.] Well, and then?
Hyacinth—[Mopping his brow.] Well, as I said, this young man sat down to supper with me . . . this martyr . . . I really must call him that . . . this wretched human sacrifice . . . and there at the table he endured such tortures that tears came to my eyes, watching him.
Dominica—I don't wonder. It is really quite touching.
