Hyacinth—You are not only clever but sympathetic as well.
Dominica—And Alexandra?
Hyacinth—If you could only have seen him standing there, this poor, industrious scientist. . . . Would you believe it? An astronomer! With his hopeless, despairing, inarticulate love; with his shattered romance; with his bleeding heart . . . and Albert insulting him with cold, withering elegance. . . . And there he stood with bowed head . . . disgraced irreparably . . . annihilated . . . after he had made such a sacrifice for the family. . . . Can you picture it? Such loyalty—and such a martyrdom? You tell me, as a woman, is such a young man not noble?
Dominica—[Emphatically.] Most noble!
Hyacinth—[Rhetorically.] Is he the sort of young man who should be driven out? Is he the sort who should be despised?
Dominica—Certainly not.
Hyacinth—[With increasing fervor.] Is he the sort who should be insulted? Who should be mistreated? Who should be punished?
Dominica—God forbid.
Hyacinth—[Still more impassioned.] Again I ask you: Does such a young man deserve to be driven away? To be insulted? To be mistreated? Or does he deserve . . . to . . . what shall I say?
