Stuart (reproachfully). Oh, Fred!!
Fred. I don’t know what she means.
Polly. I wrote that note to-day thanking you for the flowers: I write nearly all Miss Wortley’s notes.
Fred. Bosh!
[During letter-writing he surreptitiously dives into inside pocket and produces glove, handkerchief, faded flowers, and letters tied with ribbon. Examines letters, and then crosses to mantel, tears them up, and throws them into fire.
Stuart. Good! It couldn’t be better. They’ll think it’s Miss Wortley’s hand-writing. Sit down at that desk and write as I dictate.
Polly. Yes, sir.
[Sits at desk—business of letter-writing.
Stuart. “My own: Driven to the verge of desperation by the parasites who cluster about my wealth, I long for nothing but a refuge. This you can give me, and if you cherish one emotion of tenderness for me, you will be in the little morning room at twelve. A.” Address that to Newbank. Now take another sheet. “Reginald: If you have one spark of affection for me, keep me no longer in suspense! I shall be in the little morning room over the supper-room at ten minutes after twelve. Fly then to your loving but unhappy A.” Address that to Van Tromp. Now, Polly, you must deliver those notes in person, get into Miss Wortley’s domino, and be here at that time. Newbank will propose to you, and you must accept him and get rid of him. Then you must do the same to Van Tromp. Understand?
Polly. Yes, Mr. Stuart.