LADY K.—Are the children and the governess come home?
JOHN.—Yes, my lady [in a perfectly altered tone].
LADY K.—Bulkeley, take those parcels to my sitting-room.
JOHN.—Get up, old stoopid. Push along, old daddylonglegs [aside to BULKELEY].
LADY K.—Does any one dine here to-day, Howell?
JOHN.—Captain Touchit, my lady.
LADY K.—He's always dining here.
JOHN.—My master's oldest friend.
LADY K.—Don't tell me. He comes from his club. He smells of smoke; he is a low, vulgar person. Send Pinhorn up to me when you go down stairs. [Exit Lady K.]
JOHN.—I know. Send Pinhorn to me, means, Send my bonny brown hair, and send my beautiful complexion, and send my figure—and, O Lord! O Lord! what an old tigress that is! What an old Hector! How she do twist Milliken round her thumb! He's born to be bullied by women: and I remember him henpecked—let's see, ever since—ever since the time of that little gloveress at Woodstock, whose picter poor Mrs. M. made such a noise about when she found it in the lumber-room. Heh! HER picture will be going into the lumber-room some day. M. must marry to get rid of his mother-in-law and mother over him: no man can stand it, not M. himself, who's a Job of a man. Isn't he, look at him! [As he has been speaking, the bell has rung, the Page has run to the garden-door, and MILLIKEN enters through the garden, laden with a hamper, band-box, and cricket-bat.]