MRS. G. Oh, very well; that’s enough. (takes a card from her pocket, and gives it to GREENFINCH) There’s my card, sir.
GREEN. And there’s mine, sir. (gives MRS. G. a card)
| GREEN. MRS. G. | { | both read cards at the same time | } | “Gregory Greenfinch—The Turtle Dovery, Peckham Rye.” Oh! |
GREEN. Hey?—why, this is my card—my name and address. I’m Gregory Greenfinch, of the Turtle Dovery.
MRS. G. Excuse me, my good fellow, but—ha, ha, ha, ha! your impudence is highly amusing—ha, ha, ha!
GREEN. What! do you mean to tell me that I am not Greenfinch? That I’m not the husband of my own wife?
MRS. G. Oh, no; I simply say, I’m Greenfinch.
GREEN. You? Then who the devil am I?
MRS. G. ’Pon my life, I haven’t an idea.
GREEN. No! Bless me, that’s very extraordinary. Why, it can’t be possible! I’ve a strong moral conviction that I am Greenfinch; I feel that I can’t be anybody else, and that anybody else who presumes to be me is an impostor.