BELLA.—Grandmamma says so. He is a worldly man, and the world is wicked. And he goes to the play: and he smokes, and he says—
TOUCHIT.—Bella, what do I say?
BELLA.—Oh, something dreadful! You know you do! I heard you say it to the cabman.
TOUCHIT.—So I did, so I did! He asked me fifteen shillings from Piccadilly, and I told him to go to—to somebody whose name begins with a D.
CHILDREN.—Here's another carriage passing.
BELLA.—The Lady Rumble's carriage.
GEORGE.—No, it ain't: it's Captain Boxer's carriage [they run into the garden].
TOUCHIT.—And this is the pass to which you have brought yourself, Horace Milliken! Why, in your wife's time, it was better than this, my poor fellow!
MILLIKEN.—Don't speak of her in THAT way, George Touchit!
TOUCHIT.—What have I said? I am only regretting her loss for our sake. She tyrannized over you; turned your friends out of doors; took your name out of your clubs; dragged you about from party to party, though you can no more dance than a bear, and from opera to opera, though you don't know "God Save the Queen" from "Rule Britannia." You don't, sir; you know you don't. But Arabella was better than her mother, who has taken possession of you since your widowhood.