CLARENCE.—Here they are, I give you my word of honor. Ask 'em, damn em.
MILLIKEN.—What is this I hear? You, John Howell, have dared to strike a gentleman under my roof! Your master's brother-in-law?
JOHN.—Yes, by Jove! and I'd do it again.
MILLIKEN.—Are you drunk or mad, Howell?
JOHN.—I'm as sober and as sensible as ever I was in my life, sir—I not only struck the master, but I struck the man, who's twice as big, only not quite as big a coward, I think.
MILLIKEN.—Hold your scurrilous tongues sir! My good nature ruins everybody about me. Make up your accounts. Pack your trunks—and never let me see your face again.
JOHN.—Very good, sir.
MILLIKEN.—I suppose, Miss Prior, you will also be disposed to—to follow Mr. Howell?
MISS P.—To quit you, now you know what has passed? I never supposed it could be otherwise—I deceived you, Mr. Milliken—as I kept a secret from you, and must pay the penalty. It is a relief to me, the sword has been hanging over me. I wish I had told your poor wife, as I was often minded to do.
MILLIKEN.—Oh, you were minded to do it in Italy, were you?