Nokes. That's capital!—I mean I'm so sorry. Poor girl! Your father's dead, is he? You're sure he's dead?
Susan [with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes]. Quite sure, sir.
Nokes. And your mamma,—your excellent mamma,—she's alive, at all events?
Susan. No, sir; I am an orphan.
Nokes [aside]. How delightful! I love orphans. I'm an orphan myself. Ah, but then she's sure to have brothers and sisters,—pipe-smoking, gin-drinking brothers, and sisters who will have married idle mechanics, with executions in their houses every quarter-day. Susan, my dear, how many brothers and sisters have you?
Susan [sorrowfully]. I have none, sir. When my dear missis died I was left quite alone in the world.
Nokes. I'm charmed to hear it [embracing her], adorable young woman! [Bell rings without.] What are they pulling that bell about for? Confound them, it makes me nervous.
Susan [meekly]. I think they're wanting me, sir: you see, sir, I'm neglecting my work.
Nokes [kissing her]. No, you're not, Susan [kisses her again]: quite the contrary. So your name's Montem,—at present,—is it? How came that about?
Susan. Well, sir, I was left a foundling in the parish workhouse, at Salthill, near Eton. Nobody knew anything about me, and as I made my appearance there one Montem day, the board of guardians named me Montem.