[Hippanthigh stands silent and mournful.
Sladder: My child, I had foolish ideas for you once, but now I say that you are to marry a man, not a wretched, miserable little curate, who will be a wretched, miserable little curate all his life.
Ermyntrude: Father, I will not hear such words.
Sladder: I've given him every chance. I've given him more than every chance, but he prefers the bottom rung of the ladder; there we will leave him.
Ermyntrude: O, father! How can you be so cruel?
Sladder: It's not my fault, and it's not the bishop's fault. It's his own silly pig-headedness.
[He goes back to his chair.
Ermyntrude (going up to Hippanthigh): O, Charlie, couldn't you do what father wants?
Hippanthigh: No, no, I cannot. He wants me to go back on things I've said.
[Enter Mrs. Sladder carrying a wire cage, with two dead white mice in it. Also Splurge.