BULKELEY.—Come, come! whathever his hall this year row about?
MISS P.—For heaven's sake don't strike that poor man.
BULKELEY.—YOU be quiet. What's he a-hittin' about my master for?
JOHN.—Take off your hat, sir, when you speak to a lady. [Takes up a poker.] And now come on, both of you, cowards! [Rushes at BULKELEY and knocks his hat off his head.]
BULKELEY [stepping back].—If you'll put down that there poker, you know, then I'll pitch into you fast enough. But that there poker ain't fair, you know.
K.—You villain! of course you will leave this house. And, Miss Prior, I think you understand that you will go too. I don't think my niece wants to learn DANCIN', you understand. Good-by. Here, Bulkeley! [Gets behind footman and exit.]
MISS P.—Do you know the meaning of that threat, Mr. Howell?
JOHN.—Yes, Miss Prior.
MISS P.—I was a dancer once, for three months, four years ago, when my poor father was in prison.
JOHN.—Yes, Miss Prior, I knew it. And I saw you a many times.