{Exit MABEL.
Widow. There now, you’ve drove your sister off.
Owen. Well, Gilbert will bring her on again, may be.
Widow. May be—but that may be of yours might lead us all wrong.
{She lays her hand on OWEN’S arm, and speaks in a serious tone.
Widow. Now, dear, don’t be saying one word more to her, lest it should end in a disappointment.
Owen. Still it is my notion, ‘tis Mabel he loves.
Widow. Oh! what should you know, dear, o’ the matter?
Owen. Only having eyes and ears like another.
Widow. Then what hinders him to speak?