Barbara. O Mr. Anthony, don’t say that. (Weeping.)
Anthony. Hullo! what’s wrong?
Barbara. Nothing that I know of. O Mr. Anthony, I don’t think there can be anything.
Anthony. Think? Don’t think? What’s this?
Barbara. O sir! I don’t know, and yet I don’t like it. Here’s my beautiful necklace all broke to bits: she took it off my very neck, and gave me her birthday pearls instead; and I found it afterwards on the table, all smashed to pieces; and all she wanted it for was to take and break it. Why that? It frightens me, Mr. Anthony, it frightens me.
Anthony (with necklace). This? What has this trumpery to do with us?
Barbara. He gave it me: that’s why she broke it.
Anthony. He? Who?
Barbara. Mr. Austin did; and I do believe I should not have taken it, Mr. Anthony, but I thought no harm, upon my word of honour. He was always here; that was six months ago; and indeed, indeed, I thought they were to marry. How would I think else with a born lady like Miss Dorothy?