Sir P. Here, Spiker, my dear fellow, it is all right. Come in. She accepts you.
Enter Spiker.
Sp. Thought she would. Sensible little gal! Well, Miss, you shan't regret it. Bless you, we'll be as chummy together as a couple of little dicky-birds!
Verb. Mr. Spiker, let us understand one another. I will do my best to be a good wife to you—but chumminess is not mine to give, nor can I promise ever to be your dicky-bird.
Enter Lord Bleshugh.
Lord B. Sir Poshbury, may I have five minutes with you? Verbena, you need not go. (Looking at Spiker.) Perhaps this person will kindly relieve us of his presence.
Sp. Sorry to disoblige, old feller, but I'm on duty where Miss Verbena is now, you see, as she's just promised to be my wife.
Lord B. Your wife!
Verb. (faintly). Yes, Lord Bleshugh, his wife!
Sir P. Yes, my poor boy, his wife!