Miss T. Fun! Say, rather, horror—distraction—chaos! I am rent with conflicting doubts! Perhaps he was already married; in that case, I am a bigamist. Maybe he is dead; in that case, I am a widow. Maybe he is alive; in that case, I am a wife. What am I? Am I single? Am I married? Am I a widow? Can I marry? Have I married? May I marry? Who am I? Where am I? What am I?—What is my name? What is my condition in life? If I am married, to whom am I married? If I am a widow, how came I to be a widow, and whose widow came I to be? Why am I his widow? What did he die of? Did he leave me anything? if anything, how much, and is it saddled with conditions?—Can I marry again without forfeiting it? Have I a mother-in-law? Have I a family of step-children, and if so, how many, and what are their ages, sexes, sizes, names and dispositions? These are questions that rack me night and day, and until they are settled, peace and I are not on terms!
Min. Poor dear thing!
Miss T. But enough of my selfish sorrows. (Goes up to table and takes a tart. Minnie is annoyed at this.) Tell me about the noble boy who is about to make you his. Has he any dross?
Min. I don’t know. (Secretly removes tarts to another table close to door.) I never thought of asking—I’m such a goose But papa knows.
Miss T. Have those base and servile things called settlements been satisfactorily adjusted? (Eating.)
Min. I don’t know. It never occurred to me to inquire. But papa can tell you.
Miss T. The same artless little soul!
Min. (standing so as to conceal tarts from Belinda). Yes, I am quite artless—quite, quite artless. But now that you are here you will stay and see me married.
Miss T. I would willingly be a witness to my darling’s joy, but this attire is, perhaps, scarcely in harmony with a scene of revelry.
Min. Well, dear, you’re not a cheerful object, and that’s the truth.