Mrs. Felton.—Oh, what kindness!
Em’ly (Kisses Dorothy on forehead).—My own, dear Dorothy.
Squire.—Now for a little talk on another subject. Be seated. (All take chairs) Mrs. Felton, you are aware that I am agent for the Dingle estate, of which your cottage is a part. I have long acted in that capacity as a matter of courtesy to my old friend,
Caspar Dingle. I shall look after his property no longer.
Mrs. Felton.—No doubt it is a great annoyance to you—
Squire.—Not at all. Listen. I am rich, and my friend Dingle, in order to augment his already immense estate, desires his son Morley to become the husband of my daughter.
Dorothy (Confused).—Oh, papa, how can you talk of that horrid young man! You know I detest his very name.
Squire.—My dear child, if you will allow me to talk, I can easily show you the necessity of taking these ladies into our confidence.
Dorothy.—Pardon me, papa, dear; although I have never met Mr. Morley Dingle, yet from your description of his interview with you, I am sure he is very rude and ill-bred.
Squire.—True. Now in order that he may have a pretext for visiting our village, he will in future collect his rents in person. He will be here to-day, perhaps may now be on his way to your cottage.