Wil. Come all the way from Lunnon, too. There’s lots of ’em hereabouts, miss; I could ha’ got you a armful for the asking.
Jen. Yes, I dare say; but this comes from the dear old house at Hampstead.
Wil. Do it, now?
Jen. You remember the old sycamore on the lawn where Mr. Spreadbrow and I used to sit and learn our lessons years ago?—well, this is a piece of it. And as Mr. Spreadbrow was going to London, I asked him to be so kind as to call, and tell the new people, with his compliments, that he wanted to cut a shoot from it for a young lady who had a very pleasant recollection of many very happy hours spent under it. It was an awkward thing for a nervous young gentleman to do, and it’s very kind of him to have done it. (Gives back the plant, which he places against upper porch of house.) So he’s coming this morning?
Wil. Yes, miss, to say good-bye.
Jen. (busies herself at stand of flowers). Good-bye! “How d’ye do?” you mean.
Wil. No, miss, good-bye. I hear Mr. Spreadbrow’s off to Ingy.
Jen. Yes; I believe he is going soon.
Wil. Soon? Ah, soon enough! He joins his ship at Southampton to-night—so he left word yesterday.
Jen. To-night? No; not for some weeks yet? (Alarmed.)