Miss P. (going) Very well, sir, then I am gone.
Pick. But sister, stop—was ever man so used—how long is this scheme of yours to last? how long am I to be deprived of him?
Miss P. How long! why until he is brought duly to reflect upon his bad behaviour, which nothing will induce him to do, so soon as thinking himself no longer your son, but the child of poor parents—I yesterday spoke to Margaret, his old nurse, and she fully comprehends the whole affair.
Pick. But why, in addition to the quitting my own child, am I to have the torment of receiving hers? won’t the sending him away be sufficient?
Miss P. Unless the plot is managed my way, I will have nothing to do with it, but begone—can’t you perceive that his distress at losing his situation, will be augmented by seeing it possessed by another—come, come, brother, a week’s purgatory will reform him, depend upon it.
Pick. Why, to be sure, as you say—’twill reform him, and as we shall have our eyes upon him all the while, and Margaret his own nurse—
Miss P. You may be sure she will take care of him—well, since this is settled, the sooner ’tis done the better—Thomas!
Enter Thomas.
Send your young master.
Pick. I see you are finally resolved, and no other way will content you.—Well, heaven protect my poor child.