Jane. Oh, shut up!
Coddle. Eh! (Looks round in bewilderment.)
Jane (sets table, puts soup, &c., on it). There’s your soup, old Coddle. Mollycoddle, I calls you!
Coddle (aside). Bless my soul! she’s speaking to me, I think. Can it be possible? Mollycoddle!
Jane. If it war’n’t for that tuppenny legacy, old Cod, I’d do my best to pop you into an asylum for idiots. Yar! (Exit, C., meets Whitwell.)
Coddle. Old Cod! So this is her boasted fidelity, her undying affection! Why, the faithless, abominable, ungrateful, treacherous vixen! But her face is enough to show the vile blackness of her heart! I’ve suspected her for months. After all my kindness to her, too! And the money I’ve bequeathed her. She sha’n’t stay another twenty-four hours in my house. (Sees Whitwell.) Nor you either, you swindling vagabond.
Whitwell. Hallo, the wind’s shifted with a vengeance! (Shouts.) Thank you, you’re very kind. I accept your suggestion with great pleasure.
Coddle. Confound his impertinence! (Bows.) Very sorry I invited you, you scamp! Hope you’ll find my dinner uneatable.
Whitwell. What can have happened? Does he suspect me? (Shouts.) Very true; a lovely prospect indeed.