BUTLER
Hang her! 'tis pity such as she should ride.
WAITING-MAID
I think she is a witch; I have tired myself out
With sticking pins in her pillow; still she 'scapes them—
BUTLER
And I with helping her to mum for claret,
But never yet could cheat her dainty palate.
HOUSEKEEPER
Well, well, she is the guest of our good Mistress,
And so should be respected. Though I think
Our Master cares not for her company,
He would ill brook we should express so much,
By rude discourtesies, and short attendance,
Being but servants. (A bell rings furiously.) 'Tis her bell
speaks now;
Good, good, bestir yourselves: who knows who's wanted?
BUTLER
But 'twas a merry trick of Philip coachman. [Exeunt.]
SCENE.—Mrs. Selby's Chamber.
MRS. FRAMPTON, KATHERINE, working.
MRS. FRAMPTON
I am thinking, child, how contrary our fates
Have traced our lots through life. Another needle,
This works untowardly. An heiress born
To splendid prospects, at our common school
I was as one above you all, not of you;
Had my distinct prerogatives; my freedoms,
Denied to you. Pray, listen—
KATHERINE
I must hear
What you are pleased to speak!—How my heart sinks here!
[Aside.]
MRS. FRAMPTON
My chamber to myself, my separate maid,
My coach, and so forth.—Not that needle, simple one,
With the great staring eye fit for a Cyclops!
Mine own are not so blinded with their griefs
But I could make a shift to thread a smaller.
A cable or a camel might go through this,
And never strain for the passage.