PRINCE (brightly). Off with her head! Drown her in a bucket!
(The CENSOR again removes the lady and does his fell work.)
LORD TIMES. First prize, forward. Now, Cinderella, answer.
(The CENSOR, a kindly man but used to his calling, puts his hand on her shoulder, to lead her away. She removes it without looking at him.)
CINDERELLA. It’s not a catch, is it?
LORD TIMES (hotly). No, indeed.
CINDERELLA. There’s just one thing all true Britons would be anxious about.
KING (who has been allowed to break the envelope and read the answer). But what, Cinderella—what?
LORD MAYOR (hedging again). What, chit?
CINDERELLA. Their love-letters.