COADE. Certainly not. (Then he spoils it.) I am a bachelor.

MRS. COADE. A bachelor!

JOANNA. Don't give way, dear; it might be much worse.

MRS. COADE. A bachelor! And you are sure you never spoke to me before?
Do think.

COADE. Not to my knowledge. Never . . . except in dreams.

MABEL (taking a risk). What did you say to her in dreams?

COADE. I said, 'My dear.' (This when uttered surprises him.) Odd!

JOANNA. The darling man!

MRS. COADE (wavering). How could you say such things to an old woman?

COADE (thinking it out). Old? I didn't think of you as old. No, no,
young--with the morning dew on your face--coming across a lawn--in a
black and green dress--and carrying such a pretty parasol.

MRS. COADE (thrilling). That was how he first met me! He used to love
me in black and green; and it _was_ a pretty parasol. Look, I am old
. . . So it can't be the same woman.

COADE (blinking). Old? Yes, I suppose so. But it is the same soft,
lovable face, and the same kind, beaming smile that children could
warm their hands at.