father writes that if you did know it might embarrass you. M-m-m-m-m . . . wretched handwriting. "My son Florimond, now of an age to marry . . ."
The Prince. [Startled.] Marry?
The Queen. So your foolish old father is intending to marry you off, is he? I hope he isn't thinking of me. How many proposals would that make this week, Dandiprat?
Sir Dandiprat. Eleven, your Majesty—including those from the lunatic asylums.
The Queen. [Still reading.] What's this? To "his cousin the Princess Snow White"! To Snow White! [She rises in anger, crushing the letter.] To Snow White! [Then, trying not to betray her jealousy, and with a bitter laugh, she reseats herself.] Really, my dear Florimond! of course I regret to say so, but Snow White isn't a possible choice. I'm sorry to disappoint you.
The Prince. [Interrupting.] But you don't, I . . .
