ALLEN. Ah, well, us oughtn’t to be angry with her, anyhow, for what her’s done. (Takes Clara’s hand in his.) Ought us? (Draws her to him and kisses her forehead).
CLARA. (Disengaging herself gently.) I am going to tell papa. I am so happy. (Crosses l., looking back to him laughingly.)
(Exit Clara l. up stage).
ALLEN. (c. after a pause.) Everything I want in the whole wide world, and three months ago—(Breaks off and pauses his hand over his eyes.) I wonder if I shall wake up in a minute in the old farm and find that the £200,000 and Clara have only been dreams. (Rousing himself.) Ah, no, it be real enough. (Looks round.) Ah, they call Fortune a fickle jade, but her’s been a firm friend to me. I’ll drink thee a bumper, Fortune lass. (Turns to table r., On which are wine and glasses, and pours out a glassful.) I don’t know how much a bumper is, but I expects it’s about a glassful, and thee shall ha’ it. (Takes glass in his right hand, and raises it.) Here’s thy jolly good health, my lass. To Lady Fortune!
(Enter Peters c. upper door, with card on salver.)
ALLEN. (Lowers glass untouched.) What’s the matter?
PETERS. (Coming forward and presenting salver.) A gentleman to see you, sir.
ALLEN. (Takes card, but does not look at it.) He’ll have to be quick about it then. Send un up. (Footman seems to hesitate. Sharply.) Send un up. Send un up.
(Exit Peters c.)
Another of my swell friends, I suppose; they seem to be swarming this—(r. c. glances at card, his hand holding the glass sinks lower and lower, he gazes round bewilderingly.)