Mrs M Oh, how interesting!
Aug [Enthusiastically.] How delightfully romantic! I can imagine the wild young hunter. An Apollo of the prairie.
Flo An Apollo of the prairie; yes, with a strong nasal twang, and a decided taste for tobacco and cobblers.
Sir E Florence, you forget that he is a Trenchard, and no true Trenchard would have a liking for cobblers or low people of that kind.
Flo I hate him, whatever he is, coming here to rob poor cousin Mary of her grandmother's guineas.
Sir E Florence, how often must I request you not to speak of Mary Meredith as your cousin?
Flo Why, she is my cousin, is she not? Besides she presides over her milk pail like a duchess playing dairymaid. [Sir E. goes up.] Ah! Papa won't hear me speak of my poor cousin, and then I'm so fond of syllabubs. Dundreary, do you know what syllabubs are?
Dun Oh, yeth, I know what syllabubs is—yeth—yeth.
Flo Why, I don't believe you do know what they are.
Dun Not know what syllabubs are? That's a good idea. Why they are—syllabubs are—they are only babies, idiotic children; that's a good idea, that's good. [Bumps head against Florence.]