COL. I? When she refused half the good-looking fellows within ten miles round! If she does mean to marry, she takes her time about it, that I will say; it never seems to occur to her that she’s keeping her poor sister out in the cold!
MRS. T. You may be mistaken, cousin. I spoke to Julia only yesterday, and she expressed herself in terms which convinced me that, were she to receive a suitable offer—
COL. She’d accept it? Well, I’m glad she’s coming to her senses at last; and I shall go away all the more comfortable in my mind.
MRS. T. Go away?
COL. Yes. I’m off back again to Cheltenham. Touch of gout—liver queer; besides, my work here is done. Your husband’s affairs, which I confess appeared to me at first sight to be in a state of hopeless confusion, are now clearly and satisfactorily arranged, thanks to my young colleague, Harry Barton, who, I must say, worked like a nigger over them. By-the-bye, he’s another victim to Miss Julia’s caprice and fastidiousness—she actually snubbed the poor fellow before she’d time even to look at him, much less know him.
MRS. T. Well, you’ll confess he bears his disappointment with becoming resignation (satirically).
COL. Yes, he’s getting used to it, like the eels. He doesn’t see the use of crying over spilt milk. By-the-bye, there’s another matter of five thousand pounds coming to the girls out of the Hampshire property. But Barton will give you all the particulars.
MRS. T. I’m sure, cousin, I feel deeply indebted to you.
COL. Not half as much as you ought to feel to Harry Barton. Hasn’t he been here twice a week for the last month, up to his elbows in leases, loans, mortgages, and the deuce knows what? Oh! here he comes.
Enter HARRY BARTON at C., a roll of papers under his arm, a lawyer’s blue bag in his hand, which he deposits on chair.