Dingle.—My dear sir, you’ve indulged too freely in lobster salad; you’ve got the nightmare.
Squire (Points at Mrs. Felton).—Brave Sir Knight, look over your shoulder.
Dingle (Turns slowly, sees Mrs. F., and runs off L.)
Weatherspout (Same business).
Leslie.—Well, gentlemen—(Turns and sees Mrs. F.) Ugh! (Runs off R.)
Mrs. Felton (Removing pillow case from head).—Is it possible that I am such a hideous object that priests, soldiers and brigands flee from my presence?
Squire (Removes mask).—My dear Mrs. Felton, they were frightened almost to death before you came; they were longing to disperse, and you furnished the excuse.
Mrs. Felton.—This has been a night of excitement and pleasure to the young folks; to me it has proved a season of consternation. One man was so terrified on meeting me in the hall that he fell into a tub of egg flip; another individual dropped the arm of his lady-love and ran howling into the midst of the dancers.
Squire.—When the guests behold your face, their fears will turn to admiration.
Mrs. Felton.—Oh, now, really, Squire!