Enter Mrs. Selwyn, L. U. E.
Mrs. S. From an upper window I just observed Sam cross the road and come sneaking into his own house with blue spectacles on! Why? There’s a mystery in the air that I mean to fathom—for the wife who would allow her husband to have a secret all to himself does not deserve to have a mother to instruct her in the wicked ways of the male sex in general, and married men in particular! (Sits, R.)
Enter Grace, L. U. E.
Grace. Oh! mamma, something dreadful is going to happen through that awful quarrel! Dibbs is polishing up two swords and whistling the “Dead March in Saul” in a way that makes my blood run cold! (Sits on sofa.)
Mrs. S. He’s in it, too! Only let a man make up his mind to deceive his wife—and everything masculine from a boy in buttons to a Judge on the bench will lend him a hand! They are all in the swim, and they know it! My child, it would be far better for you to give up this idea of wedded bliss!
Grace. I know, mamma, everybody knows—marriage is a lottery.
Mrs. S. For the men—yes! but for the women—no! You can’t call a thing a lottery when there are no prizes at all; it then becomes a mere swindle!
Grace. Oh, mamma! You always go on like this when papa grumbles at your bonnet bill.
Enter Dibbs quickly, with card, L. U. E.
Dibbs. Oh, sir, here’s the young lady!—(putting card behind him and giving little whistle.) Whew!—the missus!