Harry. On one condition, Butts.
Butts. Name it.
Harry. There’s a man named Belmer stopping at the village inn: bring him here in half an hour.
Butts. And the child?
Harry. Bring Belmer here in half an hour, and the child shall be placed in your arms.
Butts. Bless you, John Robinson, you’re a trump! I’ll be here in half an hour. Robinson, you’re a brick! (Exit, C.)
Harry. So the train is laid. I’ll take myself off, lest the sight of that dear girl’s face unman me. If all works well, when next I enter here none shall have cause to blush for Harry Harlem. (As he is about to exit, C., he meets Lucy, who enters, C. He stands aside, bows, and hurries out, C.)
Lucy. A strange old man! Who can he be?
(Enter Fred, C., Lucy sits, R.)
Fred. Lucy, I entreat you unsay those words. Give me at least the power to hope.