crossed this threshold until now. That is how dear your brother was to you.
Dean.—As to your marriage, you understand well enough, my dear. And your threshold, is it? Who knows how much longer you will be able to call it yours? To all appearances the man in that room does not behave as if he meant, without some protest, to allow himself again to be forced out of his patrimony. You know it legally belongs to him, this estate of yours.
Ann.—It is all the same to me.
Dean.—Oh, no, it isn’t!
Ann.—Whose fault is it? Whose fault that Hans has not been settled here for the last ten years as the lawful heir to the property, instead of being first a Polish rebel, then a Siberian exile, and now a seeming outcast? Don’t you know that he told me all, the last night he was here? His father offered to forgive him, but you, his uncle, stood out against him like adamant. If it had not been for you, Hans would be in his rightful place tonight.
Dean.—And as for you, since it did not pan out with one Karvan, you had to take the other?
Ann.—As my father said, you would never forgive me if you had to use your office to marry me to a Karvan.
Dean.—Yes, yes, he was right I am a Karvan myself. I knew that the ceremony was most urgently necessary in order that the disgrace with which you overwhelmed our family name might not overflow into the streets of Potsedin.
Ann.—That is too much!
Dean (Pointing to Johnny).—That little fellow was with you at the altar.
Ann.—Oh, Sir!
Dean.—And the ceremony was necessary to spare the little one a life long disgrace.
Ann.—Oh!
Dean.—For he, too, is a Karvan. A John Karvan, whether he be the son . . .
Ann.—I pray you, do not finish that sentence.
Dean.—Of the one or of the other Karvan.
Ann (About to swoon).—My God!
Dean.—So, so! You see, my dear Mrs. Karvan; we ought to be able to come to terms without any trouble. What’s this? Take care, take care. You must brace up!
Ann.—It’s nothing now. It has passed. You win, most
