Bobstay. A woman? Then I’ll get under hatches (runs to table R.C. and puts on wig and whiskers). That used to be my state-room. I’ll look it over. Mind, Charley, mum’s the word. I’m a spirit; mysteriously disappeared. You understand? [Exit door R.
Charles. But I say, captain!—He’s pitched into Nelly’s room. No matter. I’ll have him out as soon as I’ve finished with my visitor. Who can she be?
(Enter C., Miss Persis Grievous, tragically.)
Persis, C. You are Mr. Charles Cleverly?
Charles. At your service, madam.
Persis. Monster! Traitor! Arch conspirator!
Charles. Madam!
Persis. You are the friend of Dixon Dolby. My Dixie. You have enticed him from my loving presence; from me, the woman who adores him; for what?
Charles. A day’s sport, he says.
Persis. Sport! You are like the wicked boy, and I the innocent frog. What’s sport to you is death to me. Last night he told me of his proposed visit. This morning I found in his room beneath his pillow—for we both lodge beneath the same roof; and I, in his absence, enter his sanctum as a privileged guest of that dear and worthy Mrs. Sprygs, who lets rooms at five dollars per week, lights included—