Miss Burs. In style, to be sure; for all the world’s to be here—the King, the Prince of Whales, and Duke o’ York, and all the first people; and we shall cut a dash! Dash! dash! will be the word to-morrow!—(playing with her whip).
Mr. Burs. (aside). Dash! dash! ay, just like her brother. He’ll pay away finely, I warrant, by the time he’s her age. Well, well, he can afford it; and I do love to see my children make a figure for their money. As Jack Bursal says, what’s money for, if it e’nt to make a figure. (Aloud). There’s your brother Jack, now. The extravagant dog! he’ll have such a dress as never was seen, I suppose, at this here Montem. Why, now, Jack Bursal spends more money at Eton, and has more to spend, than my Lord John, though my Lord John’s the son of a marchioness.
Miss Burs. Oh, that makes no difference nowadays. I wonder whether her ladyship is to be at this Montem. The only good I ever got out of these stupid Talbots was an introduction to their friend Lady Piercefield. What she could find to like in the Talbots, heaven knows. I’ve a notion she’ll drop them, when she hears of the loss of the Bombay Castle.
Enter a Waiter, with a note.
Waiter. A note from my Lady Piercefield, sir.
Miss B. Charming woman! Is she here, pray, sir?
Waiter. Just come. Yes, ma’am.
(Exit Waiter.)
Miss B. Well, Mr. Bursal, what is it?
Mr. B. (reads). “Business of importance to communicate—” Hum! what can it be?—(going).