[Verbena totters, and falls heavily in a dead faint, r.c., upsetting a flower-stand; Lord Bleshugh staggers, and swoons on sofa, c., overturning a table of knicknacks; Sir Poshbury sinks into chair, l.c., and covers his face with his hands.
Sp. (looking down on them triumphantly). Under the Harrow, by Gad! Under the Harrow!
[Curtain, and end of Act I.
ACT II.
Scene—Same as in Act I.; viz., the Morning-Room at Natterjack Hall. Evening of same day. Enter Blethers.
Blethers. Another of Sir Poshbury's birthdays almost gone—and my secret still untold! (Dodders.) I can't keep it up much longer.... Ha, here comes his Lordship—he does look mortal bad, that he do! Miss Verbena ain't treated him too well, from all I can hear, poor young feller!
Enter Lord Bleshugh.
Lord Bleshugh. Blethers, by the memory of the innumerable half-crowns that have passed between us, be my friend now—I have no others left. Persuade your young Mistress to come hither—you need not tell her I am here, you understand. Be discreet, and this florin shall be yours!
Blethers. Leave it to me, my lord. I'd tell a lie for less than that, any day, old as I am! [Exit.