OTHERS.
For shame! For shame!
FALK.
'Tis a bit shy at present, but, no fear,
A week of servitude will make him tame.
MISS JAY [looking round].
Where is he hid?
FALK.
His present hiding-place
Is in the garden loft, our common lair;
[Blandly.
But let me beg you not to seek him there;
Give him a breathing time!
MISS JAY.
Well, good: the grace
Will not be long, tho'.
FALK.
Nay, be generous!
Ten minutes,—then begin the game again.
He has an English sermon on the brain.
MISS JAY.
An English—?
LADIES.
O you laugh! You're fooling us!
FALK.
I'm in grim earnest. 'Tis his fixed intention
To take a charge among the emigrants,
And therefore—
MISS JAY [with horror].
Heavens, he had the face to mention
That mad idea? [To the ladies.
O quick—fetch all the aunts!
Anna, her mother, Mrs. Strawman too.