ELLIE. I like Mr Mangan very much; and I shall always be—
MRS HUSHABYE [impatiently completing the sentence and prancing away intolerantly to starboard]. —grateful to him for his kindness to dear father. I know. Anybody else?
ELLIE. What do you mean?
MRS HUSHABYE. Anybody else? Are you in love with anybody else?
ELLIE. Of course not.
MRS HUSHABYE. Humph! [The book on the drawing-table catches her eye. She picks it up, and evidently finds the title very unexpected. She looks at Ellie, and asks, quaintly] Quite sure you're not in love with an actor?
ELLIE. No, no. Why? What put such a thing into your head?
MRS HUSHABYE. This is yours, isn't it? Why else should you be reading Othello?
ELLIE. My father taught me to love Shakespeare.
MRS HUSHAYE [flinging the book down on the table]. Really! your father does seem to be about the limit.
ELLIE [naively]. Do you never read Shakespeare, Hesione? That seems to me so extraordinary. I like Othello.
MRS HUSHABYE. Do you, indeed? He was jealous, wasn't he?
ELLIE. Oh, not that. I think all the part about jealousy is horrible. But don't you think it must have been a wonderful experience for Desdemona, brought up so quietly at home, to meet a man who had been out in the world doing all sorts of brave things and having terrible adventures, and yet finding something in her that made him love to sit and talk with her and tell her about them?
MRS HUSHABYE. That's your idea of romance, is it?
