Eglantine. Ha, ha! It’s very sad, Jane. Ha, ha, ha!
Jane. Don’t laugh at the misfortunate, Miss Eglantine: ’tain’t lucky.
Eglantine. Forgive me, Jane: I didn’t mean to. I believe I’m hysterical; and no wonder,—shut up by myself like this, at nineteen.
Jane. No wonder you finds it a bit dull, miss. I don’t wonder at it,—not a mite.
Eglantine. And papa seems resolved to keep me unmarried. Half a dozen proposals already! and he’s refused them all.
Jane. Yes, miss; so he have. He says regular, “Not the son-in-law for me.” What kind does he expect, I wonder? A angel?
Eglantine. I’m afraid so, Jane. And it’s got so bad that nobody now has the courage to offer, a refusal is so certain. (Sobs.) Or else I’m sure that gentleman who danced the whole evening with me a month ago at Lady Thornton’s—
Jane. Yes, miss: I’ve heard you mention him often.
Eglantine. He was dying to offer himself, I’m sure, from the way he looked at me. But somebody has warned him, of course. (Weeps.) O Jane, how tedious, how tedious life is!
Jane. Yes, miss; tedious as tedious! But here comes master. Where is that letter? Oh! here it be.