Margaret. About Miss Treable? Oh, believe me, she is the o—
Sir J. (rising down C. very fidgety and awkward) No, no, it's not about Miss Treable. Let me introduce you to Mr. Mollentrave. Mollentrave, this is my ward, Miss Messilent.
(Marg. comes down L. C.)
Mollen. (R. C. bowing) I am exceedingly happy to make Miss Messilent's acquaintance.
Sir J. (picking his words with considerable effort and difficulty) Margaret, you will possibly—consider it strange—but the fact is—there is something—that I ought to have—said to you—myself—before to-day perhaps (C.)—but it's a—delicate matter—and you know what a rugged old bear I am—and—well, Everard's not much better—and here's Mr. Mollentrave—a very old friend—and he—well, you see, I told him of my—of our—dilemma—and he, in the kindest way in the world—eh, Mollentrave?—well, he'll just tell you, you see, and I'll finish—what I was doing.
(He beats a hasty retreat to his desk and buries himself in his papers. Mollentrave advances, smiling and mincing.)
Mollen. (R. C. very volubly) My dear Miss Messilent, I find myself in a rather embarrassing position. Your guardian, who as you are aware, has, in the most charming manner possible, retained all the shyness of youth in the presence of your adorable sex, has deputed me to speak for him, phrase his sentiments, express his pious desires—in a word, act as his mouthpiece in introducing to your notice a subject that I trust will enlist all your sympathy. Have I your permission?
Margaret. (L. C. her eyes roaming from him to Sir Joseph) Certainly.
(Marg. sits stool L. C. Mollen. takes chair from R. C. and sits C.)
Mollen. (sitting C.) My dear young lady, the sixty years that have passed over my head, furrowing my brow and blanching my hair, give me at least the privilege to address you with a certain paternal simplicity, a mild but glowing benevolence. Can you, without too great a stretch of the imagination, look on me, for a very brief moment, as though I were actually your guardian?