Mrs. Clarence. Have you sent for a doctor?
Aunt. No, I haven’t. It is more of a moral complaint than physical. He thinks of nothing and nobody but himself. He quite neglects Minnie.
Mrs. Clarence. What a shame!
Aunt. And I can’t sit still and see Minnie sacrificed.
Mrs. Clarence. I should think not, indeed. How pretty she looks to-night. Horace is engaged to her, isn’t he?
Aunt. I’m glad to say it is broken off. He has nobody to blame but himself. She plucked up courage this evening and gave him his congé.
Mrs. Clarence. So that’s it. Influenza has a lot to answer for. Excuse me a moment, dear. (Exit Mrs. Clarence.)
Horace. Must I listen to all this twaddle?
Messenger. Your intimates don’t appear to think very highly of you.
Horace. I don’t care two straws for their opinion.