Sir W. Zounds! I shall go mad. Here’s a mother-in-law going to break her heart, because my daughter prefers a walk in the morning to writing culinary secrets in a fat folio family receipt book!
Lady W. Sir Willoughby, sir Willoughby, it is you who encourage her in disregarding my orders.
Sir W. No such thing, lady Worret, no such thing: but if the girl likes to bring home a pair of ruddy cheeks from a morning walk, I don’t see why she is to be balked of her fancy.
Lady W. Ruddy cheeks, indeed! Such robust health is becoming only in dairy maids.
Sir W. Yes, I know your taste to a T. A consumption is always a key to your tender heart; and an interesting pallid countenance will at any time unlock the door to your best affections: but I must be excused if I prefer seeing my daughter with the rosy glow of health upon her cheek, rather than the sickly imitations of art, which bloom on the surface alone, while the fruit withers and decays beneath—but zounds! don’t speak so loud, here’s somebody coming, and they’ll think we are quarrelling. (Helen sings behind) So here comes our madcap.
Enter Helen.
Helen. Good morning, good morning. Here, papa, look what a beautiful posy of wild flowers I have gathered. See, the dew is still upon them. How lovely they are! To my fancy, now, these uncultivated productions of nature have more charms than the whole garden can equal. Why can we not all be like these flowers, simple and inartificial, with the stamp of nature and truth upon us?
Lady W. Romantic stuff! But how comes it, Miss Helen, that my orders are thus disobeyed?
Helen. Why lord, mamma, I’ll tell you how it was; but first I must eat my breakfast; so I’ll sit down and tell you all about it. (sits down.) In the first place, I rose at six, and remembering I was to copy out the whole catalogue of sweetmeats, and as I hate all sweet things, (some sugar, if you please, papa) I determined to take one run round the park before I sat down to my morning’s work: so taking a crust of bread and a glass of cold water, which I love better than (some tea, if you please, mamma) any thing in the world, out I flew like a lapwing; stopped at the dairy; and (some cream, if you please, papa) down to the meadows and gathered my nosegay; and then bounded home, with a heart full of gayety, and a rare appetite for—some roll and butter, if you please, mamma.
Lady W. Daughter, this levity of character is unbecoming your sex, and even your age. You see none of this offensive flightiness in me.