Enter Brummell—muddy—supported by Isidore
Brum. Isidore, give me my dressing gown!
Isid. Dressing gown! that's good—why I never put my own on nowadays!
Brum. [talking to himself]. That screen mustn't go—nor the duchess's armchair. [Turning to Nurse.] Mind that, nurse, whatever happens to me, this chair and the screen remain. Ha! ha! what would Ballarat say, if——
Nurse. There, never mind them folks. Pull your coat off, and put your dressing gown on, do!
Brum. Dear me! I hope the ices will be better—the punch I've seen to! The duchess shall sit here.
Nurse [to Old Woman]. That's how he goes on nearly every day. The high folks he knew have turned his head. Sometimes he makes one of the waiters announce a lot of folks, as never come, while he, like an old fool, bows to nobody, and hands nothing to that old chair.
Old W. What work it must give you.
Nurse [to Brummell]. There, take that muddy coat off, nobody's coming to-day.
Brum. Leave the room and see that everything is ready.