MRS. J. (in a soothing tone) Don’t agitate yourself, Barbican. I wouldn’t have touched upon such a delicate subject for the world—but I never heard a syllable about the “Baron’s fair daughter—or the twopenny postman” either till I was told of it just now by Mr.——
O’WALKER. (interrupting her) Exactly. (aside to BROWN, who looks astonished) Don’t notice what she says, poor soul—insane! sad case!—last Christmas went out without her bonnet—burning sun—snow on the ground—never recovered it! (goes up)
BROWN. (pathetically and looking at MRS. J.) Poor soul!
MRS. J. And now, Cousin Brown, now that I’ve got you—(suddenly taking his arm—BROWN rather alarmed) we must talk over a certain little matter—in other words, my darling Fanny is only waiting for her dear godpapa’s consent to get married—isn’t she, Mr. O’Wal—— (to O’WALKER)
O’WALKER. (very quickly) Yes—yes. (aside) This is getting intensely exciting!
BROWN. Well, my consent shan’t be wanting, nor a wedding portion either, provided I approve of Fanny’s choice. What sort of a fellow is he—eh?
MRS. J. Judge for yourself, Cousin Brown—for there he is. (pointing to O’WALKER)
BROWN. Eh!—I’m delighted to hear it!— (shaking O’WALKER’S hand) but where’s my god-daughter?—Brown requires his god-daughter!
MRS. J. There she is! (to FANNY, who runs in L.) Fanny, embrace your godpapa—he consents to your marriage.
FANNY. Oh, you dear, good, kind, handsome old man! (embracing BROWN) Why don’t you throw your arms round him too, John Horatio?