Oh, she’s awfully happy. But, I say, isn’t she a lucky girl?
Hugh Murray.
Yes. Why?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
To have the best fellow in the world for her husband.
Hugh Murray.
Look—they’re waiting for me. Good-bye.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Good-bye. [He shakes hands with Hugh, who descends the steps.] No, I sha’n’t assist at Dun’s departure. I’m afraid Les will cry, and I can’t bear to see a girl cry; it makes me feel so dreadfully queer in the chest. Dun is saying good-bye to her now. Oh, well now, she is a brick! She’s rolled her handkerchief into a ball and put it in her pocket. There’s Murray. In he gets! Away they go! Poor Leslie’s head is drooping. Confound it, she’s taking out her handkerchief! I can’t stand it.
[Priscilla enters from the villa, crying.]