MRS. P.—Collusion, dear Mrs. Bonnington!
LADY K.—Or insolence, Mrs. Prior!
MRS. P.—Insolence, your ladyship! What—what is it? what has happened? What's Julia's hair down for? Ah! you've not sent the poor girl away? the poor, poor child, and the poor, poor children!
TOUCHIT.—That dancing at the "Coburg" has come out, Mrs. Prior.
MRS. P.—Not the darling's fault. It was to help her poor father in prison. It was I who forced her to do it. Oh! don't, don't, dear Lady Kicklebury, take the bread out of the mouths of these poor orphans! [Crying.]
MILLIKEN.—Enough of this, Mrs. Prior: your daughter is not going away. Julia has promised to stay with me—and—never to leave me—as governess no longer, but as wife to me.
MRS. P.—Is it—is it true, Julia?
MISS P.—Yes, mamma.
MRS. P.—Oh! oh! oh! [Flings down her umbrella, kisses JULIA, and running to MILLIKEN,] My son, my son! Come here, children. Come, Adolphus, Amelia, Charlotte—kiss your dear brother, children. What, my dears! How do you do, dears? [to MILLIKEN'S children]. Have they heard the news? And do you know that my daughter is going to be your mamma? There—there—go and play with your little uncles and aunts, that's good children! [She motions off the Children, who retire towards garden. Her manner changes to one of great patronage and intense satisfaction.] Most hot weather, your ladyship, I'm sure. Mr. Bonnington, you must find it hot weather for preachin'! Lor'! there's that little wretch beatin' Adolphus! George, sir! have done, sir! [Runs to separate them.] How ever shall we make those children agree, Julia?
MISS P.—They have been a little spoiled, and I think Mr. Milliken will send George and Arabella to school, mamma: will you not, Horace?