Nor I, at this rate, many more months. They are killing me—like Agnes in The Specter of St. Ives. She expires, in the fourth act, as I shall die in Cavendish Square, painfully, of no recognized disorder—
Arthur.
And anything we can do to make them happy——
Rose.
To make the Vice Chancellor happy! I won't try! I will not! he's a fiend, a vampire-!
Arthur.
Oh, hush!
Rose.
[Snatching up Sir William's snuff-box, which he has left upon the table.] His snuff-box! I wish I could poison his snuff, as Lucrezia Borgia would have done. She would have removed him within two hours of my arrival—I mean, her arrival. [Opening the snuff-box and mimicing Sir William.] And here he sits and lectures me, and dictates to me! to Miss Trelawny! "I venture to put a question to my grandson, Miss Trelawny!" Ha, ha! [Talcing a pinch of snuffy thoughtlessly but vigorously.] "Yah—h—h—h! pish! Have we no cheers? do we lack cheers here, Trafalgar?" [Suddenly.] Oh!