Trudge. [Peeping in at the door.]
Trudge. May I come in, sir?
Inkle. What does the booby want?
Trudge. Sir, your uncle wants to see you.
Inkle. Mr. Medium! show him up directly.
[Exit Trudge.
He must not know of this. To-morrow! I wish this marriage were more distant, that I might break it to her by degrees: she'd take my purpose better, were it less suddenly delivered.
Enter Medium.
Med. Ah! here he is! Give me your hand, nephew! welcome, welcome to Barbadoes, with all my heart.
Inkle. I am glad to meet you here, uncle!