PATTY. (R.) Well, I’m sure, sir,—eh? Yes. I do declare it’s O’Walker. (laying hold of O’WALKER by the tail of his coat and pulling him back)
O’WALKER. (L. without looking at her and endeavouring to make his way out) I’ll speak to you presently, ma’am—here! conductor! stop! (flourishing his umbrella) Gone, of course—and this is your doing, ma’am? (turning upon PATTY) Eh—no—yes—it is—Patty Peckover, and more bewitching than ever.
PATTY. O’Walker! but no familiarity if you please, I’m a married woman.
O’WALKER. Married!
PATTY. Yes! at least I’m as bad—I mean as good as married.
O’WALKER. Oh—to one of your numerous cousins in the Life Guards I suppose?
PATTY. That’s no affair of yours, sir,—when you behaved like a brute to me—yes, Mr. O’Walker, brute’s the word—you didn’t imagine I was going to remain in a state of single blessedness all my life.
O’WALKER. And yet you swore you would.
PATTY. And so I did—for a whole fortnight, and then out of spite I vowed I’d marry the first man that asked me—I shouldn’t have cared who, if he’d been a baron or even a duke I’d have had him!
O’WALKER. And who is the happy man? What’s his name?