HYPATIA. If you please, papa. TARLETON. Whats the price, Mr Percival? PERCIVAL. We might do with another fifteen hundred if my father would contribute. But I should like more. TARLETON. It's purely a question of money with you, is it? PERCIVAL. _[after a moment's consideration]_ Practically yes: it turns on that. TARLETON. I thought you might have some sort of preference for Patsy, you know. PERCIVAL. Well, but does that matter, do you think? Patsy fascinates me, no doubt. I apparently fascinate Patsy. But, believe me, all that is not worth considering. One of my three fathers (the priest) has married hundreds of couples: couples selected by one another, couples selected by the parents, couples forced to marry one another by circumstances of one kind or another; and he assures me that if marriages were made by putting all the men's names into one sack and the women's names into another, and having them taken out by a blindfolded child like lottery numbers, there would be just as high a percentage of happy marriages as we have here in England. He said Cupid was nothing but the blindfolded child: pretty idea that, I think! I shall have as good a chance with Patsy as with anyone else. Mind: I'm not bigoted about it. I'm not a doctrinaire: not the slave of a theory. You and Lord Summerhays are experienced married men. If you can tell me of any trustworthy method of selecting a wife, I shall be happy to make use of it. I await your suggestions. _[He looks with polite attention to Lord Summerhays, who, having nothing to say, avoids his eye. He looks to Tarleton, who purses his lips glumly and rattles his money in his pockets without a word]._ Apparently neither of you has anything to suggest. Then Patsy will do as well as another, provided the money is forthcoming. HYPATIA. Oh, you beauty, you beauty! TARLETON. When I married Patsy's mother, I was in love with her. PERCIVAL. For the first time? TARLETON. Yes: for the first time. PERCIVAL. For the last time? LORD SUMMERHAYS. _[revolted]_ Sir: you are in the presence of his daughter. HYPATIA. Oh, dont mind me. I dont care. I'm accustomed to Papa's adventures. TARLETON. _[blushing painfully]_ Patsy, my child: that was not--not delicate. HYPATIA. Well, papa, youve never shewn any delicacy in talking to me about my conduct; and I really dont see why I shouldnt talk to you about yours. It's such nonsense! Do you think young people dont know? LORD SUMMERHAYS. I'm sure they dont feel. Tarleton: this is too horrible, too brutal. If neither of these young people have any--any--any--