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           ROSALIND:(Sarcastically)Yes,listeningtoitisbetter.

           MRS.CONNAGE:Anddon’twastealotoftimewiththecollegeset—littleboysnineteenandtwentyyearsold.Idon’tmindapromorafootballgame,butstayingawayfromadvantageouspartiestoeatinlittlecafesdown-townwithTom,Dick,andHarry—

           ROSALIND:(Offeringhercode,whichis,initsway,quiteashighashermother’s)Mother,it’sdone—youcan’truneverythingnowthewayyoudidintheearlynineties.

           MRS.CONNAGE:(Payingnoattention)Thereareseveralbachelorfriendsofyourfather’sthatIwantyoutomeetto-night—youngishmen.

           ROSALIND:(Noddingwisely)Aboutforty-five?

           MRS.CONNAGE:(Sharply)Whynot?

           ROSALIND:Oh,quiteallright—theyknowlifeandaresoadorablytiredlooking(shakesherhead)—buttheywilldance.

           MRS.CONNAGE:Ihaven’tmetMr.Blaine—butIdon’tthinkyou’llcareforhim.Hedoesn’tsoundlikeamoney-maker.

           ROSALIND:Mother,Ineverthinkaboutmoney.

           MRS.CONNAGE:Youneverkeepitlongenoughtothinkaboutit.

           ROSALIND:(Sighs)Yes,IsupposesomedayI’llmarryatonofit—outofsheerboredom.

           MRS.CONNAGE:(Referringtonote-book)IhadawirefromHartford.DawsonRyderiscomingup.Nowthere’sayoungmanIlike,andhe’sfloatinginmoney.ItseemstomethatsinceyouseemtiredofHowardGillespieyoumightgiveMr.Rydersomeencouragement.Thisisthethirdtimehe’sbeenupinamonth.

           ROSALIND:HowdidyouknowIwastiredofHowardGillespie?

           MRS.CONNAGE:Thepoorboylookssomiserableeverytimehecomes.