Nicholas.—Biddy, we’re out.
Biddy.—Yer what?
Nicholas.—We’re out; that is, we soon will be. We do not wish to see anyone—you comprehend?
Biddy (angrily).—Don’t want to see anyone I comprehend! Sur, I’m an honest Irish girl, and I niver comprehended anybody. (arms akimbo) Niver!
[Prolonged knock at the door.]
Nicholas.—Go to the door and say we’re out!
Biddy (aside).—The man is surely out of his head. [Exit Biddy L. E.]
Matilda.—Oh my! we’ll never get off.
Nicholas.—My dear it’s all your own fault.
Matilda (puts handkerchief to eyes).—Dear, dear! Nicholas. Hark!