She has changed perceptibly--she is a trifle thinner for one thing; the light in her eyes is not so bright; she looks easily a year older.
Her mother comes in, muffled in an opera-cloak.

She takes in ROSALIND with a nervous glance.
MRS.

CONNAGE: Who is coming to-night?
(ROSALIND fails to hear her, at least takes no notice.) MRS.

CONNAGE: Alec is coming up to take me to this Barrie play, "Et tu, Brutus." (She perceives that she is talking to herself.) Rosalind! I asked you who is coming to-night?
ROSALIND: (Starting) Oh--what--oh--Amory-- MRS.

CONNAGE: (Sarcastically) You have so _many_ admirers lately that I couldn't imagine _which_ one.