MOUS. Hush! (tenderly) Don’t cry—don’t make such a row, Miss Baker.
BET. Call me Betsy!
MOUS. Very well, Betsy. (aside) I’ve been too firm, Mouser, you’ve been by many degrees too firm. (aloud, and taking BETSY’S hand) Now, don’t cry, there’s a dear. (aside) I called her a dear!
Here CRUMMY looks in from Office, and observes.
There—there—and, now laugh—laugh directly, you little rogue. (aside) I called her a little rogue. (chucks BETSY under the chin)
BET. (looking nervously towards the door) Oh, I think I’d better go now, sir.
MOUS. Don’t be in a hurry, Betsy. He, he, he my pretty little Betsy—for you are pretty—very—very—he, he! (laughs to himself, aside) I’m going it! I feel I’m rapidly becoming a horrid, good-for-nothing little rascal! But I can’t help it.
BET. (trying to disengage her hand) But, sir, what would Mrs. Mouser think?
MOUS. (recklessly) Mrs. Mouser may think whatever she likes. There, what d’ye say to that? Ha, ha, ha! who’s afraid? (suddenly and very loud) Betsy, embrace your Marmadook.
BET. (frightened, takes up her pattens, and holds them out, threatening him)