ARTH. You don’t, eh? Very well, then listen to me! I shall do something desperate!
COL. Wait till I get out of the room! (Feeling his pulse.) I thought as much! Going like a windmill in a gale of wind! This excitement’s too much for me, I must take a sedative! (takes pillbox out of his pocket; opens it, and tosses two pills into his mouth one after the other). And now, young fellow, listen to me. If you are so anxious to settle, as you call it, better begin with your bootmaker! In a word, you don’t marry yet with my consent. Marry without it, and I leave every shilling I’ve got to—to the Society for the Suppression of Virtue—I mean the Propagation of Vice—I don’t know what I’m talking about! (swallows two more pills, and hurries out at R., slamming door violently after him).
ARTH. Just as easy to argue him out of his prejudices as it would be to make a Quaker kick his mother’s— Oh! here comes Myrtle! What a contrast!—he all apathy—she all impetuosity! Of course I shall have to give her an account of my morning’s employment, as usual, which consists of breakfast—three slices of toast, a rasher of bacon, a couple of eggs, and a cup of coffee! and not a bad morning’s work, either!
Enter MYRTLE at C. in morning dress—a large garden hat and gloves.
MYRT. Good-morning, Mr. Vallance! has nature no attractions for you, that you remain in-doors such a lovely day as this? Following your uncle’s example, as usual, I presume?
ARTH. On the contrary, I’ve been very hard at work, I assure you, trying to reduce my uncle’s bump of obstinacy.
MYRT. But in vain?—the protuberance defied your efforts. And has that been your entire morning’s work?
ARTH. Physically, yes! Mentally, no!
MYRT. The physical we’ll dismiss; the mental consisting of—reading the newspaper, eh? (smiling).