_Mr. G._ Now, my dear, how are we to enjoy a season of calm and tranquil delight if you insist upon boring me with a subject upon which we can never agree? Let's change the subject. My dear, I am seriously thinking of dyeing— _Mrs. G._ O Simon, don't talk so! Do you want to frighten me to death? _Mr. G._ Yes, of dyeing—my hair and beard. _Mrs. G._ You cannot mean it. _Mr. G._ Yes, I do. Watkins tells me he has a wonderful preparation, one application of which will instantly turn white, gray, red, or yellow hair to a beautiful black. Think of it, Susannah! In imagination behold your husband entering the room, transformed by "The Magic Dyer" into a youthful specimen of the genus _homo_. _Mrs. G._ I couldn't imagine it, and I won't. I am perfectly satisfied with your appearance. And you would look horrid with your hair and beard in mourning. I should never forgive you if you did such a dreadful thing. Never say dye to me again. Now let's change that subject. Alice and Mr. Cheeny— _Mr. G._ Sue! Susan! Susannah! pause. If you do not instantly pause, I shall dye—my hair and beard. _Mrs. G._ Oh, no, you won't! Why are you so determined to keep Alice single? (_Enter_ ALICE R.) _Alice._ Yes, uncle, why am I to be deprived of my natural rights? _Mr. G._ Oh, bother! You here? Now, how is a man to enjoy a season of— _Mrs. G._ Oh, don't say that again! Answer my question. _Mr. G._ Certainty, my dear. I have three reasons: the first of which is, she is too young to marry. _Mrs. G. and Alice_ (_together_). Too young to marry! _Mr. G._ (_aside_). Grand chorus of indignant females. (_Aloud._) I repeat it: too young to marry. _Mrs. G._ Nonsense! She's as old as I am. If that is your opinion, why did you allow me to marry? _Mr. G._ (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it. (_Aloud._) You didn't allow me to finish. Too young to marry a young man. _Alice._ Indeed! Well, I'll never marry an old one, if I live to be as old as my grandmother. I do detest old men, and middle-aged men too. _Mr. G._ (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it again. _Mrs. G._ So much for your first reason. What is your second? _Mr. G._ My second is, Alice can do better than to marry at all. Look at that head. How beautifully the reasoning bumps are developed! A phrenologist would go wild with ecstasy with his hands upon that head. _Alice._ Would he? He'd get them well scratched for his assurance.