graphed me yesterday that he didn't trust himself to speak to you about Alexandra without me. You know he never makes a step without me.
Beatrice—A good, dutiful son.
Dominica—Yes, so he is. [Majestically.] Happy the people who get such a king. . . . But there! He asked me to come at once so that he might tell her how enchanted he is with her. [Both rise, embrace and kiss each other, then sit down.]
Beatrice—Oh, my dear Dominica!
Dominica—I don't wonder. She is such a perfect creature,—beautiful, good, clever and queenly. That is what I admire most about her—her proud, imperious ways.
Beatrice—How nice of you to say so!
Dominica—Haven't you noticed that in the past ten years our young women have become infected with a certain rather vulgar freedom of manner, imported from foreign countries? Not she. She is grave, majestic, aloof, perhaps a bit too aloof . . . I mean a bit too cold toward her inferiors.
Beatrice—Cold? Oh, I wouldn't say that.
Dominica—That is precisely what I admire in her.
Beatrice—She has altered of late. She is quite warm to her inferiors now.
Dominica—To think that the desire of my
