MILLIKEN.—Hem! I ought to thank you, Lady Kicklebury, for it is you that have given her to me.
LADY K.—He won't listen! he turns away and kisses her horrible hand. This will never do: help me up, Clarence, I must go and fetch his mother. Ah, ah! there she is, there she is! [Lady K. rushes out, as the top of a barouche, with Mr. and Mrs. BONNINGTON and Coachman, is seen over the gate.]
MRS. B.—What is this I hear, my son, my son? You are going to marry a—a stage-dancer? you are driving me mad, Horace!
MILLIKEN.—Give me my second chance, mother, to be happy. You have had yourself two chances.
MRS. B.—Speak to him, Mr. Bonnington. [BONNINGTON makes dumb show.]
LADY K.—Implore him, Mr. Bonnington.
MRS. B.—Pray, pray for him, Mr. Bonnington, my love—my lost, abandoned boy!
LADY K.—Oh, my poor dear Mrs. Bonnington!
MRS. B.—Oh, my poor dear Lady Kicklebury. [They embrace each other.]
LADY K.—I have been down on my knees to him, dearest Mrs. Bonnington.