Sir W. (calls) Gilbert!—Gilbert!
Enter GILBERT.
Gilb. Here, sir.
Sir W. Gilbert, now you have been in Ireland some weeks, I hope you are not unhappy.
Gilb. No, sir, thank you, sir.
Sir W. But are you happy, man?
Gilb. Yes, sir, thank you, sir.
{GILBERT retires, and seems busy arranging his master’s clothes: Sir WILLIAM continues dressing.
Sir W. (aside) Yes, sir, thank you, sir. As dry as a chip—sparing of his words, as if they were his last. And the fellow can talk if he would—has humour, too, if one could get it out; and eloquence, could I but touch the right string, the heartstring. I’ll try again. (Aloud) Gilbert!
Gilb. Yes, sir. (Comes forward respectfully.)