[Exit Minnie.
Sym. Dear child—dear child! I sometimes fancy I can see traces of her angel mother’s disposition in her. Yes, I think—I think she will be happy. But, poor Cheviot! Oh, lor, poor Cheviot! Dear me, it won’t bear thinking of!
Enter Miss Treherne, unobserved. She is dressed in stately and funereal black.
Miss T. Come here, man-servant. Approach. I’m not going to bite you. Can I see the fair young thing they call Minnie Symperson?
Sym. Well really, I can hardly say. There’s nothing wrong, I hope?
Miss T. Nothing wrong? Oh, thoughtless, frivolous, light-hearted creature! Oh, reckless old butterfly! Nothing wrong! You’ve eyes in your head, a nose on your face, ears on each side of it, a brain of some sort in your skull, haven’t you, butler?
Sym. Undoubtedly, but I beg to observe I’m not the——
Miss T. Have you or have you not the gift of simple apprehension? Can you or can you not draw conclusions? Go to, go to, you offend me.
Sym. (aside). There is something wrong, and it’s here (touching his forehead). I’ll tell her you’re here. Whom shall I say?