HORACE. Coughing. No wonder—everybody’s coughing, this beastly weather. I’m coughing—— (_Coughs._) MINNIE. (_At top of table_) Poor dear. How good of you to go out. When will it be here? HORACE. What? MINNIE. The cab. HORACE. I don’t know what you are talking about. AUNT. That odious Louise hasn’t sent home my dress. But there, you two will be all right without me. HORACE. Without you? Oh, yes, we’ll manage. (_Taking off coat—puts it down on chair R. below fireplace._) MINNIE. Oh, Auntie, he isn’t dressed yet. AUNT. Horace, you’ll be late. You’ll miss ever so many dances. HORACE. What on earth are you talking about? AUNT. Aren’t you going to the Clarences’ dance? HORACE. Certainly not. MINNIE. Oh, Horace! AUNT. But you are not going to disappoint Minnie! MINNIE. Horace, please. AUNT. Mrs. Clarence will be offended if none of us go. HORACE. Well, then, go, by all means. There’s nothing to prevent you. AUNT. But Minnie can’t go without you. HORACE. Why not? MINNIE. Auntie’s dress hasn’t come from Louise’s, so she can’t go. AUNT. You promised to take her. HORACE. I’m not going out again to-night. MINNIE. Oh, Horace, how unkind! AUNT. I call it perfectly mean. HORACE. It is much too cold. Besides, I want to read. AUNT. I never knew anyone as selfish as you, Horace. HORACE. Well, what keeps you? Why don’t you go? AUNT. You know I can’t. I haven’t got a dress. HORACE. Well, go without it. AUNT. Horace! HORACE. I mean, you can easily find one that will do. AUNT. I think men are perfect fools. One that will do, indeed. Now don’t speak to me any more. HORACE. Kindly listen to me. In spite of my frightful cough—(_Slight cough_)—I’ve been out in the bitter snow to get this copy of the “Astronomer.” It contains an article on life on the planet Mars, in which you know I am much interested. And you ask me to put on thin dress clothes and go out again, and run tremendous risks with my delicate throat and supersensitive lungs, and all for what? To see a lot of fools capering about and making idiots of themselves until four or five in the morning. I think you are most inconsiderate— AUNT. Horace—— HORACE.—and unreasonable, and selfish. AUNT. The impertinence of the man. MINNIE. Oh, never mind. I didn’t understand that you had anything in particular to do. HORACE. Now, there’s a sensible little girl. MINNIE. Sit down here—(_Armchair_)—and make yourself thoroughly comfortable. HORACE. (_Sitting down, but feeling in all his pockets_) One who realizes that one cannot always be running about from place to place, neglecting the serious interests of life. MINNIE. What is it? What are you looking for?