Mrs Nutts. A very pretty comparison, Mr Nutts, for a husband and a father.
Nosebag. Well, I don’t know; but to think of a woman with sich a mountain o’ gold—it seems unnat’ral.
Nutts. Quite awful to think of! Besides, quite impossible, too, that any man could love her.
Mrs Nutts. And I should like to know why not?
Nutts. The money, Mrs Nutts, the money; it must distract his attention. No man’s heart can be big enough to hold four millions o’ money and a wife at the same time.
Mrs Nutts. Just like you, Nutts. But I know what you’d have done if you’d have been a dook. Yes; you’d have had room enough in your heart for all the money; and as for the poor ’oman, she might have taken her chance and have stayed outside.
All. Ha! ha! ha!
Mrs Nutts. I see nothing to laugh at. And it’s enough to make a woman’s flesh creep to hear you men.
Tickle. No offence, Mrs Nutts; but the fact is, women have no bus’ness with sich a lot o’ money. ’Tisn’t giving us men a fair chance. Woman, as I’ve always said, is fascinatin’ enough without a penny—always has the odds of us, if she hasn’t a farden; but when jined to everything else, she comes among us with millions o’ money—why, it isn’t fair love-making; no, it’s nothing short of manslaughter.
Slowgoe. How did Louis Philippe overlook her? Why, the Infanta hasn’t got above a fourth of the sum—only a million.