March. Well, when I find my father.
Kitty. Oh, yes, I’ll marry you then, never fear.
Grap. Ha! zat is good,—zat is very much better.
Kitty. Oh, dear, March! here’s mother coming again.
Grap. Ze old lady wiz ze broom? Sacre! I sall get my head broke ver much!
March. Old gentleman, you’ll have to make a run of it.
Grap. But I have not ze coat nor ze hat. I will catch ze death of cold in mine head! (Sneezes.) Sacre! I have him now! (Sneezes.)
March. Where is his hat and coat, Kitty?
Kitty. I don’t know, but I suspect mother has them now.
Grap. Ze old lady wiz my coat? Sacre! zat is ver much too bad,—ver much too bad!