Mr. Chatterton, a gentleman—[Looking around.] Alack! the boy is out. [Places lamp on table, and goes back to door.] Come in, sir.
Enter Burgum and Bertha.
Mr. Chatterton is not in. Will you wait, Mr.—, Mr.—
Burgum. [Pompously.] Mr. de Burgum, Madam. I trust that I shall have a more honorable title soon;—eh, daughter?
Bertha. There is no more honorable title, father.
Burgum. Bah! romantic.
Mrs. Angell. He surely will return soon: he is seldom out in the evening.
Burgum. I'll await his coming. I must see him on a matter connected with the de Burgum Pedigree, which he was fortunate enough to discover. I say "fortunate enough," since otherwise some one else would have discovered it—birth, like murder, will out.
Mrs. Angell. Pray be seated, sir. [Burgum sits R. of table; Bertha, L.]
Burgum. [Looking around the room.] The rewards of poetry, my dear.