Miss T. Say that one on whose devoted head the black sorrows of a long lifetime have fallen, even as a funeral pall, craves a minute’s interview with a dear old friend. Do you think you can recollect that message, butler?
Sym. I’ll try, but I beg, I beg to observe, I’m not the butler. (Aside.) This is a most surprising young person!
[Exit.
Miss T. At last I’m in my darling’s home, the home of the bright blythe carolling thing that lit, as with a ray of heaven’s sunlight, the murky gloom of my miserable school-days. But what do I see? Tarts? Ginger wine? There are rejoicings of some kind afoot. Alas, I am out of place here. What have I in common with tarts? Oh, I am ill-attuned to scenes of revelry! (Takes a tart and eats it.)
Enter Minnie.
Min. Belinda! (They rush to each other’s arms.)
Miss T. Minnie! My own long-lost lamb! This is the first gleam of joy that has lighted my darksome course this many and many a day! And in spite of the change that time and misery have brought upon me, you knew me at once! (Eating the tart all this time.)
Min. Oh, I felt sure it was you, from the message.
Miss T. How wondrously fair you have grown! And this dress! Why, it is surely a bridal dress! Those tarts—that wine! Surely this is not your wedding-day?
Min. Yes, dear, I shall be married in half an hour.