Bar. Dolt! blockhead! (to Christopher) when, except this untitled girl, there is not one plain lady, no, nor one real gentlewoman in the whole party; and she, as heiress and sole relation of the high-born countess Roland——
Chris. The sole relation of who?
Bar. The high-born countess Roland!
Chris. (eagerly.) What! you havn't heard—the heiress dare not even hint—Oh ho! (looking at Ulrica, who beckons him to go.) But I won't stay, else I could tell you, that if you and your son had purses as long as the dead pedigree of the Ravensburgs, they wouldn't be half long enough for the live pedigree of the high-born countess Roland! and as her relations will shortly be yours, I'll send express for some few dozens from Franconia who'll now have two strings to their bow; for if cousin Winifred Winbuttle don't keep open house for them, ecod! cousin baron Ravensburg must. And so, yours my lord, yours madam: and there—(whispering Oliver)—there's a Roland for your Oliver, my little twaddling old butler. [Exit.
Bar. Send express for a few dozens! Without there! Stop that scoundrel! Ulrica, what is all this? Speak, I insist on an explanation.
Ul. So do I, Sir—I insist upon an explanation, and I will have one, if I follow that impudent fellow to the world's end.
Bar. Stay where you are. In, in, if you please.
Ul. (trying to pass him.) Out, out, if you please. (mimicking Christopher.)
Bar. Oliver, be you her guard, whilst I pursue this false, this infamous——
Ul. (getting between him and the door.) Stay.