Enter BLUNT at L. H., carrying a portmanteau.
MRS. T. (to BLUNT). Where are you taking that luggage?
BLUNT. To the nearest hotel hereabouts, ma’am. Master’s off directly, and I’m going with him!
MRS. T. Oh, then you bear him no malice?
BLUNT. Malice—me! What for, ma’am?
MRS. T. Pshaw!—in a word, I know what has lately taken place between you.
JESSIE. Yes! the fisti—fisti—you know (with a lame imitation of sparring).
MRS. T. (with intention). And we also know the cause!
BLUNT. Do you? and do you think I’d leave the captain just because of a little—little bit of a—kicking?
MRS. T. What? Then it wasn’t about—her?