Barlow. It’s a long aside, Mrs. Perkins, but it’s awfully important, and I don’t see how we can cut it down. It’s really the turning-point of the play, in which I reveal the true state of affairs to the audience.
Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh). I suppose that’s true. I’ll have to stand it. But can’t I be doing some sewing?
Barlow. Certainly not. You are the daughter of a peer. They never sew. You might be playing a piano, but there’s hardly room on the stage for that, and, besides, it would interfere with my aside, which needs a hush to be made impressive. Where did I leave off?
Mrs. Perkins. Hypnotic power.
Barlow. Oh yes. (Resumes rehearsing.) She little wots that this—this adventurer who has so strangely interested her with his hypnotic power is the man who twenty years ago forged her father’s name to the title-deeds of Burnington, drove him to his ruin, and subsequently, through a likeness so like as to bewilder and confuse even a mother’s eyes, has forced the rightful Earl of Puddingford out into a cruel world, to live and starve as Henry Cobb.
[Bell.
Mrs. Perkins. Ah, I fancy the Bradleys are here at last. I do hope Edward knows his part.
Enter Yardsley.
Yardsley. They’ve come, and we can begin at last.
Enter Perkins, Miss Andrews, and Mr. and Mrs. Bradley.