PEGGY. I should think not, indeed! and what did you say to Mr. C. R.?
MRS. S. The truth! that my hand was promised to my cousin, Percy Postlethwaite; that his father had once saved mine from ruin, who made me promise, as the only means of testifying his gratitude to the father, to marry the son.
PEGGY. Ah! and that, of course, was a settler for Mr. C. R.
MRS. S. On the contrary, his answer to my letter ran thus:—“Love like mine never despairs. I will still be near you, for I still hope”—and yet for the last two months he has ceased to write.
PEGGY. Of course he has! and high time, too, considering you told him you were Mrs. Postlethwaite, as was to be.
MRS. S. Very true; and yet (after a slight hesitation) no matter, go to bed, Peggy. Good night.
PEGGY. Good night, ma’am. (taking the lantern—aside) Luckily when Master Percy arrives he’ll put all this romantic lackadaisical nonsense out of missus’s head.
Exit at door, L. C.
MRS. S. Yes, while the news of my recent accession to fortune has brought so many admirers to my feet, he, on the contrary, has ceased to think of me.
(MRS. S. seats herself in chair near the work table, L.; RATCLIFFE at the same moment enters and cautiously goes to door, L. C., which he closes. The stage is only dimly lighted)