LADY K.—A widower of that angel! [Points to picture.]
TOUCHIT.—Pooh, pooh, angel! You two ladies have never given the poor fellow any peace. You were always quarrelling over him. You took possession of his house, bullied his servants, spoiled his children; you did, Lady Kicklebury.
LADY K.—Sir, you are a rude, low, presuming, vulgar man. Clarence! beat this rude man!
TOUCHIT.—From what I have heard of your amiable son, he is not in the warlike line, I think. My dear Julia, I am delighted with all my heart that my old friend should have found a woman of sense, good conduct, good temper—a woman who has had many trials, and borne them with great patience—to take charge of him and make him happy. Horace, give me your hand! I knew Miss Prior in great poverty. I am sure she will bear as nobly her present good fortune; for good fortune it is to any woman to become the wife of such a loyal, honest, kindly gentleman as you are!
Enter JOHN.
JOHN.—If you please, my lady—if you please, sir—Bulkeley—
LADY K.—What of Bulkeley, sir?
JOHN.—He has packed his things, and Cornet Kicklebury's things, my lady.
MILLIKEN.—Let the fellow go.
JOHN.—He won't go, sir, till my lady have paid him his book and wages. Here's the book, sir.