First performed at the Royal Strand Theatre, Thursday, May 20th, 1858.
Well, mum!
Hasn't the postman been here?
I don't know, mum.
You don't know? Then, who is to know?
That's what I was thinking, mum, as I'm the only servant you keep.
I've a great mind not to keep you.
Very good, mum; then, if you please, this day month—
Hold your tongue, I won't allow you to finish the sentence.
There he is, fetch the letter.
Well, that is funny.
What is funny, pray?
Why, mum, here's one letter from Mr. Omnium and one—
No servant of mine ever took such liberties as you do; you have been with me too long, Warner.
Very likely, mum; then, if you please, this day month—
Give me the letters and leave the room.
I know whose writing it is, ma.
So do I, miss; I won't even condescend to read it.
Shall I condescend, ma?
No.
I don't care about his letters.
You don't, Miss Pointer? You don't care about the letters of your future husband?
Well, ma, if he is to be my husband, I dare say I shall have plenty of letters from him some day or other.
Harriet, you provoke me by your indifference; look at Mr. Omnium's money and then look at your own: but you can't look at your own, for you have got none to look at.
I've got a little.
Unless you marry with my consent, not one penny.
You don't imagine I should marry without it?
Very proper indeed!
Will Mr. Omnium go out with us to-day?
Of course: at least I haven't read his note, but of course he will.
Well, ma, why shouldn't he? Do you know, I really do not think he has any wish to marry me?
What does that signify? if I choose it he shall: moreover, he shall go with us to-day.
I don't think he will.
Won't he?
I shall expect a month's wages, mum—
Hold your tongue! I shall want you to take a note over the way to Mr. Omnium.
Yes, mum!
There's somebody calling: I won't be at home; you go to your room, put your things on, and
be ready to go—
I shall expect a month's wages, ma!
Don't be silly! can't he?
There he is, fast asleep over his favourite book, “Hints on Matrimony.” What chapter?
But, no mother-in-law—no—no—mother-in law—
Yes, sir; but I'm not madam.
I suppose I was dreaming
You frightened me I can tell you.
Frighten a soldier?
I'm not a soldier now; when I was I argued in this way—Her Majesty pays me—
None of your everlasting arguments, they make my head ache.
Perhaps they do, but, they lost a capital soldier, when they turned me out of the army for arguing. No man ever obeyed orders better when I was once convinced they were right.
Soldiers and servants should do as they're told and ask no questions.
Very likely, but what is any order worth if it won't bear argument?
Go!
There it is again, that's an order: but if I obey it and go, how are you to know why I came?
Confound you, why did you come then?
To tell you that a friend of yours called just now.
Why didn't you shew him up?
He couldn't stop, he had just come up from the country and was obliged to go a little further, but he'll soon be back, and hopes you won't leave home till he has seen you.
What's his name?
Don't know!
Didn't you ask him?
No!
Why not?
I've been told to open the street door, and I did it—I've been told I'm to ask no
questions, and I didn't.
The same rules don't apply in every case.
Now, sir, don't that show the necessity of argument?
Good gracious, no! Had he any one with him?
Yes, a young lady: and a very nice looking one I should say, but of course that admits of argument.
It's Herbert Manifest I shouldn't wonder, I wish it may be, I really do want a friend's advice.
You're above asking mine, I suppose?
Well, old Grimsby, to do you justice, I believe your advice would be honest.
And I know it would, and that don't admit of argument.
I'm glad there's something that doesn't. Grimsby, I'm uneasy and uncomfortable.
I've seen that for some time.
But, you don't know the cause?
Yes, I do: you don't know whether to get married or not, and you feel bothered!
Excuse me, sir, that's my secret.
Do you think I ought to marry?
Yes, if you like it.
Do you think I should do right to marry Miss Pointer?
No!
Do you see any objection to her?
No!
To any of her family, then?
No!
Dear me! don't you think she is, if anything, a little positive?
Yes!
And rather domineering?
Yes!
And yet you see no objection to her?
No! but you aren't the man to tackle that lady, you haven't half nerve enough: bless you, her domineering would be all bosh if you wouldn't stand it.
I'm afraid if I were once married that she would take the management of the whole house.
What house?
Mine to be sure.
Why, you never would think of making a mother-in-law part of your establishment surely?
She would insist upon it.
Would she? then, sir, my advice can be of no further use to you.
But I choose you to give it me: hang it, I will have my own way with somebody.
Quite right, sir, but you had better begin with Mrs. Pointer.
I have. She wanted me to escort them to several places to day, and I have sent a
note to say I can't.
She'll make you.
Will she? you don't know what I am when I am once roused. said I'll
do—I'll do! and what I have said I won't do—nothing on earth shall make me
do—if I can possibly help it!
A young woman, sir, with a note from Mrs. Pointer.
Come in, my dear.
Your dear, Mr. Grimsby?
A nice young woman is all the world's dear.
Mr. Grimsby—there's manners in all situations.
Is the young person there?
Brought a note from Mrs. Pointer, sir.
Give it to my man.
No sir, can't give it to anybody but you—them's missus's orders.
(R.)Very well.
Give my compliments to your mistress and tell her—
I must trouble you to write it sir, them's missus's orders.
Very well, wait outside and I'll write.
Hadn't I better—
Mrs. Warner, them's master's orders.
Grimsby, what did you mean by “Ah?”
I was thinking of your firmness, sir.
Nonsense; firmness—if I had not written, I should have got that poor girl into a scrape.
You may as well put your coat on, sir—you'll have to go!
No such thing!
There's your marching orders, sir.
I'll not give way one inch!
Here she is again, sir, with another note.
Very good.
Whether I like it or not?
Well, sir, I suppose she meant, “if you please” —but she didn't say so!
Mr. Grimsby, what do you mean?
Nothing particular—it's a way we have in the army.
Yes sir!
Yes, the lady has got her answer this time, and I feel pleased at my own firmness.
Only the door bell, sir.
Yes, either I'll not marry at all, or if I do I'll be master in my own house.
How very unlucky!
(R.)Really, Mrs. Pointer, I think I may be allowed to regulate my own dress.
In the house—yes: but you can't expect Harriet and me to go out with you in that costume?
I don't expect it—I'm not going out: surely you got my note?
Mamma, if Mr. Omnium does not wish it—
Indeed, I don't wish him to go with us.
I cannot give away, ma'am.
No, no, upon my word—besides, I can't put it on here.
You don't know what an honour I have in store for you, Harriet shall help you on with your coat.
Mamma, I'd rather not.
Quite correct, Miss Harriet, I couldn't think of allowing it.
Then I'll do it myself, come, off with it.
(C.)I declare I never saw anything like it, there's no earthly use in saying no to you.
(R.)Not a bit, bless you.
Miss Harriet, I'm quite ashamed.
(L.)Oh, Mr. Omnium, I know what mamma is.
Dear me, what is there to be ashamed of? Fiddle-de-dee, Mr. Omnium.
But hear me, Mrs. Pointer—
You must hear me, I expect a friend.
What friend can you have who regards you as I do?
He doesn't wish it, mamma; it would only annoy him.
Annoy me?
You have another for me I trust?
Oh, yes, ma'am.
We'll see about that by and bye.
He's regularly taken prisoner and marched off between a file of female cossacks; the enemy
will never consent to exchange him, and his only chance is to make his escape.
Never mind; your master is out they tell me.
He's only just gone, sir? I wonder you didn't meet him.
Will he soon return?
Well, sir, that's rather uncertain; he's my master —but just now, I don't think
he's exactly his own.
(C.)Ah! how so?
(R.)Why, he's gone out with two ladies, sir— and, saving your presence miss, ladies generally like to have their own way.
(L.)And quite right, when they can get it.
There's one of them two, miss, that always gets it.
And who may she be?
Who she may be, miss, admits of argument—I only hope, she never will be, what, I
take it, she wishes to be.
How very mysterious—what is her name?
Your curiosity is very natural, miss, but I'm not sure I'm at liberty to mention it.
I'm glad my friend Jacob has such a discreet servant; did you give him my message?
Yes sir, but you forgot to give me your name.
Herbert Manifest.
Well, sir, he guessed it was you, and he wants to see you above all things.
That's the reason he is gone out.
You musn't be angry sir; he couldn't help himself, he couldn't indeed.
What should I be angry about? I'm come to stay some days with your master.
I shouldn't wonder if he was to say his fare is more, sir.
And I should wonder if he didn't say so; but he won't have it, get the things out, give him the money, and shut the door in his face.
(L.)What can all this mean?
(R.)What can it signify to you?
I like to have all mysteries cleared up, and Mr. Omnium was so very kind to me when he staid with us in the country, that I have always felt a great interest about him.
Why you were a mere child?
Perhaps that made me feel his kindness the more;
Well, we shall hear all about it bye-and-bye when he comes.
How are we to amuse ourselves in the meantime?
Oh! anyhow; here's a book I shall read.
How like a man!
How like a woman! What's this? “Hints on matrimony.” Why, Jacob, are you travelling on my road?
Well, dear, I'll come.
Safe at home once more and free from pursuit for an hour or two. There's some advantage
even in crowded rooms, We were separated and the thought struck me to make the most of the
accident that restored me to liberty, and fly. Ye powers! what a woman is that Mrs. Pointer;
when she's angry I'm frightened, and when she's civil I'm always afraid she's just going to
be angry. Oh! Gordon Cumming, undaunted conqueror of fearful animals, did you ever encounter
a mother-in-law! I doubt it, you couldn't have been alive to tell the story; why should I
subject myself to such tyranny? I will not, I will be a man, so, let her come, let her enter
the room this moment, let her say, coaxingly, (as she can) “Mr. Omnium, won't you return?” I
should answer in the same tone, “No!” sharply. “Mr. Omnium, I desire you'll return.” “No.”
peremptorily. “Mr. Omnium, I insist on your returning!” “No, madam, no, my eyes are opened,
the spell is broken, reason is restored, Richard is himself again!”
Why Jacob! is that you?
What has excited you so?
I'm not ex—ci—ted!
Oh, but you were; what on earth did you mean by “Richard's himself again?”
Nothing; I did not know anybody was so near me, and I was trying over something I heard at the play the other night; you must know I fancy myself a bit of an actor.
Was that all?
I'm truly glad to see you again; and how is my little darling Charlotte?
Let her answer for herself
How do you do, Mr. Omnium?
(L.)You don't mean to say you are my little darling; I mean—why, la! how you are altered, to be sure.
(C.)Don't you mean to shake hands with me?
I shall only be too happy—how do you do, Miss Charlotte?
Why not Charlotte, without the Miss, as it used to be? What is there to be alarmed at in me?
Nothing; but I don't know how it is, I begin to suspect I must be of rather a nervous temperament.
(R.)Only just discovered that, Jacob.
What, have you observed it before?
Rather.
Well, I suppose I was too young to judge; I only remember that nobody was half so kind to me as you—that nobody took me such nice walks, or such jolly donkey rides.
Ah, you remember them, do you?
Perfectly.
And how I used to lead the way, when there was an awkward bit of road?
Yes; and sometimes followed to whack the animals when they were lazy.
So I did.
Nay, more—I remember how I often got a cut intended for the poor donkey.
Dear me, was I so awkward? I hope I didn't hurt you!
If you did, it's five years ago; besides you used to call me your little wife, and I have since been told that in this highly civilized country of ours, men are allowed by law to beat their wives, to a certain extent.
Oh, shocking! but tell me, Herbert, what has brought you to town so suddenly?
Two things—one concerns Charlotte.
Don't, Herbert.
Why not? anything concerning my little wife must interest me.
It's nothing very important—but there is a rich man with whom it's of consequence to me to keep well, who persecutes her with an offer of marriage, and so I thought it best to bring her away for a little while.
Then she doesn't like him, poor dear?
No.
You're a good fellow, as I always thought you: I'd do anything rather than she should have him.— I'd sooner marry her myself, fifty times.
No, no, my dear Miss—I mean Charlotte—you know what I mean
Well, that concerns myself—and I stand in need of your best advice.
It's not a love affair?
Even so.
And you are really in love?
Deeply—desperately.
I envy you—I wish I were in love.
With her?
I don't know who she is; I mean with anybody—with somebody.
You don't seem to be very particular!
Yes, indeed, I am; but why, I say, I wish I were in love, is, because I can't help being afraid I shall somehow or other, get married without.
Nobody can make you marry unless you choose it.
I should like to be quite sure of that.
As an angel! My dear Jacob, she has a pair of eyes!
I'm glad of that, because they once wanted me to marry a young woman who had only one!
Pshaw! her hands—
Have love at their fingers' ends, no doubt.
They have, indeed; and her feet—
Suppose we stop there;—Is your passion returned?
It is.
A mother-in-law.
Murder! that is something to fear;—and yet I don't know, Herbert; your means are
good: and very soon, when you are a partner in the house, they will be better; why should you
fear any mother-in-law in the kingdom?
What would you advise me to do?
Why, go to her house; hold yourself as upright a dart; walk right up to her; look her
straight in the face, and say—
Mrs. Pointer
Mrs. Pointer!
Mrs. Pointer!
Mrs. Pointer! Herbert!
(L.C.)Upon my word, this is most extraordinary conduct, Mr. Omnium!—is there anything so very terrible in the bare announcement of my name, that it should cause not only you, but all your friends to turn their backs upon us?
(R.)I assure you, ma'am, if I did turn my back,
What you mean, Mr. Omnium, by this additional insult is best known to yourself; but what I mean is this—I have not the slightest wish to improve my acquaintance with that young lady.
(R.)Insult, Mrs. Pointer? You must allow me to say that—
(L. C.)One moment, sir, if you please.
Yes, ma.
I was going to say, madam, that whatever opinion you may have formed of me—
And I was going to say, sir, that whatever opinion I may have formed of you, as you seem to be with your particular friend, I had probably better not express it. I shall take it as a favour if you will address your conversation to anybody in the room rather than to me.
Madam, I shall endeavour to oblige you.
I think that much the best way, ma'am.
Do you? I'm not so sure. On second thoughts I'll speak to you at once.
Yes, I'll speak now, this instant.
I'm sure, madam, Mr. Omnium—
You're extremely kind, Miss What-d'ye-call-'em,
No answer?
A thousand pardons—presently if you please.
Yes, my dear, but not now—not now!
Very well, I shall take my work into the next room, and leave you to entertain one
another.
Herbert!
Well, Jacob?
Your sister has left the room.
I know it: but that is not what you were going to say?
Not exactly.
Say it then?
So I will. It struck me that Mrs. Pointer's manner to you was very strange.
Ditto me, with regard to her manner to you.
Yes, but I know her.
So do I.
(L.)The deuce you do! And pray, sir, do you know her daughter also?
What do you think of her?
I shouldn't exactly like to say.
I should like to know what you think of her?
I think more about her step-mother than about her.
Is it possible? then, my dear Jacob, accept advice which is thoroughly disinterested,—let nothing on earth induce you to marry Mrs. Pointer.
You need not alarm yourself, my thoughts run in a very different direction.
I own it!—I am rich, and I think it's time I lived for somebody else besides myself.
I applaud your sentiment: you know my friendship, confide in me?
I will; but you have a love affair, confide in me first?
We are interrupted.
Grimsby, leave the room!
There's a reason why I shouldn't.
What is it?
I've got a letter for you.
Give it then!
Now there's no reason why I shouldn't
Nay, read your letter.
I had rather not.
Well, you are the coldest lover I ever knew.
I don't know that I'm a lover at all; but there's no question of love here—this is from the mother.
And you're afraid of her?
Afraid of her! my dear friend, did you ever happen to see a laughing hyena?
Once.
Then there she is again, eyes—teeth—claws and all, yet I must say, like her prototype, always looking grand, and occasionally even pleasant.
Why ally yourself with such people?
Well, I was introduced and called—the mother was very civil, so I called again: one day a walk was proposed, this led to another and another—in short, I'm a creature of habit, and I became quite a house-dog there. I said nothing particular and I meant nothing particular, and yet I begin to be afraid—
That you are fairly hooked in?
I don't know what to say to it; and now comes this letter which I don't half like to open—
Out with it, and let us know the worst.
No, hang it, I'll read it myself.
Egad, she's a trimmer!
Isn't she?
Capital! Signed?
No, I won't tell you that.
Never mind, I shall know in time. What do you mean to answer, “yes” or “no?”
Yes.
I can't sufficiently admire your decision.
Now don't quiz me; it's impossible to make up one's mind in a moment. Suppose you leave me to myself a little bit and join your sister. I'll soon write an answer;—I have more firmness than you think.
you remains unchanged. In obedience to
your wish, I have only to add the otherwise superfluous monosyllable, ‘yes,’ and remain,
your's most faithfully, Jacob Omnium.”
The young woman is waiting for an answer, sir.
Tell her to wait.
That's quite unnecessary, sir; she has been doing so this half hour.
Don't argue—fetch my hat.
Are you going out, sir?
No.
Why, sir, you don't usually have your hat to walk about the room.
Fetch—my—hat.
Thank you, sir.
Give me that. are laughing. Shut your eyes—no,
open them. You'll play some trick—I won't
Your hat isn't big enough for me, sir.
Silence!
Going to make a Cupid of me, master?
Fortune; not Cupid—stupid;—how many fingers do I hold up?
Five—ten—four—two.
That will do; hold up your head, and plunge in your hand.
In what?
In the hat, to be sure—be quick, I want to know my fate.
Fate! la, sir, you frighten me; I hope it's all right.
In with your hand, and draw out one of those two letters.
A letter, directed to Mrs. Pointer.
Give it to her servant.
is he after?
That's what I call decision; but I should like to know what the decision is; I've a great
mind to break the seal,—no, I must be firm, I'll burn it.
(C.)Jacob, what are you about?
Only going to burn a letter.
(R.)A love-letter, I dare say.
(L.)Upon my honour, I don't know whether it is or not.
Now, I'm sure it is.
Then you are better informed than I am; Herbert knows half the story, and you may both hear the rest,—I am about—or, rather, I suddenly, found myself about to marry a—a—yes—a charming young person; but she's not so charming as you, Miss Charlotte.
Hush, hush! you mustn't talk about me.
At that pistol's point I left you.
At first, I thought I would say no.
First thoughts are always best.
I prefer second thoughts.
Well, I wrote a decided no!
And you were quite right?
Yes: but you see on reflection—not that I want firmness—I feared I might, though unintentionally, have compromised the young lady, so I wrote a decided yes.
And which did you send?
Neither!
Mr. Omnium!
Jacob!
I don't mean that; I have sent one, but I don't know which.
You really must explain?
That is soon done:—chance placed me in my present position, and I resolved that chance should take me out of it—I put the two letters into a hat, blindfolded old Grimsby, made him draw one, sent him off with it: and that I may not even know which I have sent, I'm going to burn the other.
This is quite a new kind of firmness: but don't burn the letter?
If I keep it, firm as I am, I shall open it.
Give it to me then?
No, give it to me, I won't look at it?
I don't like to expose you to temptation, they do say all ladies are curious.
Not about what does not interest them.
I prove the contrary by trying to save you from temptation.
Take it dear, miss Charlotte, take it?
I'll bet sixpence you have said yes!
Seek not to shake my firmness, or influence my destiny by a vile bet? I hope it's no—oh yes, it must be no—oh no, I fear it's yes. Fortune, smile upon me, and save me from such a mother-in-law as Mrs. Pointer?
Herbert, this astonishment—this agitation!— a horrible suspicion flashes across my brain—we
love, that is I don't—but you do, the same individual!
It is too true!
Does she return your passion?
Ardently.
Forget that the name accidentally escaped me.
Impossible!
Then is your friend the most wretched of mortals; what have I done? my brain's on fire—my
pulse is at 150—I must have air: Herbert, farewell, and if ever you see me again it will be
under very different circumstances.
What is he going to do? I'll follow him, I must know what he means.
So, they are rivals, and the “yes” or “no” was about Harriet: he doesn't care about her I'm
certain, or he would have said yes in a moment, at least I would. How can I assist my poor
brother? by looking at this letter?
I can't find which way he's gone; I thought to seek Mrs. Pointer's, but then I thought
she would refuse to see me. There's no time to lose—his letter may destroy my hopes for ever,
I'll write myself—one last and desperate attempt.
Yes!
Certainly, miss.
(R.)What in the world became of you, I tried to overtake you, but failed?
I don't wonder at it, I had a plan—and I ran like a madman; but it struck me all on a sudden that it wouldn't answer—so I ran back again. Miss Charlotte, one question—have, you looked at that letter?
(C.)Certainly not.
(L.)I'm sorry for it, I was in hopes that female curiosity would have prevailed—however, open it now, I must know the contents.
It will be better for us all to know the worst, open, Charlotte, open?
If you hesitate, give it to me?
No, rather to my brother, you would be too much agitated.
Read word for word; don't spare me; I am anxious, but I am firm.
Go on, go on,—I have said “yes,” no doubt, I feel I have.
I was agitated, and my hand shook.
No doubt, Charlotte was quite right; you are agitated now, therefore I won't read it; and
to prevent the possibility—there—there—there—
Hold!—I must know what I have written.
You'll know quite time enough, but not one word of this shall you see.
(R.)Herbert! Herbert!
(L.)I had rather not attempt it.
It's such a pity I should stand in his way, when I really don't care about the lady.
Nor does she care about you, according to what Herbert said.
I don't think she does, a bit.
Then what made you say yes?
Her mother; that is, if I have said it; but that is what I want to know.
Then her mother will make you marry her, I suppose.
I'm afraid she will; she obeys that stepmother in everything.
Then she must be a very good girl.
Yes; but she is not so pretty as you are.
Oh, you must not talk about me.
Do let me—and to you; I'm rather a nervous person—and your voice is so
soothing.
Miss Pointer has a very nice voice—
Not like yours.
And beautiful eyes—
Not like yours.
And it struck me that she had a very pretty hand.
Not like yours—
So, here you are again!—I was just saying to your sister—I forget what I was saying.
It doesn't much signify, for, if am not mistaken, there is a missive coming that will claim
your undivided attention.
What's that?
Another billy from Mrs. Pointer—it's written on “immediate.”
Then give it me, and leave the room.
I'm a little nervous myself—Charlotte.
In your hands, good fortune must befal me.
(C.)Gentlemen, steady your nerves, I am about to open the book of fate.
It's signed “Harriet Pointer”—Is that the mother or the daughter?
You know her writing?
Too well.
Silence in the Court!
Then it was no—and she's piqued.
That tells the whole story;—vacillation is the very word a woman uses when she's intensely savage —oh, this is charming!
By all means—I'm perfectly easy—
Sir!
You brought that letter—there's a sovereign for you.
Thank you, sir.
I beg your pardon; I can't always control my feelings.
Let me see—vacillation—oh—
Regret it? I'm the happiest man alive—give me music, that I may dance a polka!
Sir!
Give those men a shilling, and tell them to go on playing.
Yes, sir!
Perhaps you'll rest then, while I finish the letter
I thought it was all over.
No, you interrupt me so, where was I? I must go back a little
How?
So it is, I assure you.
I've stopped the music, sir.
It's past 4 o'clock, sir, and the Savings Banks are shut.
(R.)Sad indeed!
(L.)Very—very sad.
Why not?
Pardon me, my question was suggested by an indescribable feeling, why so?
It is easily answered, I grieve for my brother who loses by your gain, and for you, who seem to gain nothing by his loss.
Is that all?
Is it not enough?
Yes, but I had ventured to hope that you had some trifling personal feeling in the matter.
It may be, that under other circumstances, I might have had.
You will think me presumptuous, but you have said too little or too much. Is it possible,
that under any circumstances, you could have thought of one, who compared to you, is old—who,
compared to you, is ug—spare
Excuse my saying more, than that, I do not see the inferiority.
Wretched being that I am—one question more?
I cannot allow it—you have crossed me—unintentionally I admit—in the fondest wish of my heart; it consoles me to think that Harriet will have a husband worthy of her, so much for myself—Charlotte must not be worried.
I only wanted to ask her—
I know, kind as you are, still you are not free from the miserable vanity of human nature; on the point of marriage with one girl, you fancy another cares about you, and you cannot rest until your morbid wish to know the truth be satisfied.
Oh, Herbert!
It shall be satisfied—it cannot signify—my sister and I shall soon be gone, and of course,
we shall never meet again. You were kind to her when a child, and always called her
your little wife; she contracted a childish affection for you, and grew up in the cherished
notion that you were to be her husband, (you may not have met with such instances in life but
I have). This notion, the difference of your ages and other personal matters, on which you
have more lightly touched, have not had power to shake, I hope your vanity is satisfied.
To the full, and yet is my position any thing but an enviable one. I am about to marry one to whom I am indifferent; to injure irreparably the best and dearest friend I have; and to lose the unlooked-for chance of her who would make my happiness for life. One solitary wish is left me—
And that is?—
That the music would come again, for I want to resume my polka.
Jacob, you are very mad.
No such thing,
Steady as a rock.
I should think so; look at me, what is my height?
I should say about five feet seven.
Wrong again, I'm nine feet ten.
I told you you were mad.
Not a bit of it, never mind what a man looks: he is—what he feels: I feel myself nine feet ten—and from the commanding height I enjoy, I shall dictate the future fortunes of those about me.—To begin, you Herbert Manifest, shall marry the object of your affections, Harriet Pointer.
Impossible! her step-mother will never consent; to it.
Then you shall run away with her—No you shan't! it's a low vulgar thing to do, and though
you might like it at the time, you would soon cease to respect her. Leave Mrs. Pointer to me.
My brother has said too much; you know it cannot be—Mrs. Pointer—
Excuse my vulgarity;
Well, I think I could.
Don't whisper to me, sir. Go back; make your announcement.
Well, sir? How can you—how can I—how can anybody be well, with such proofs of perfidy as I hold in my hand?
(R.C.)How very funny!—I see you have received both my letters.
(L. C.)Funny, sir!—is that the word? Could mortal man conceive—could mortal woman believe in the existence of such treachery?
My good lady—
I'm not your good lady, sir;—nothing should induce me to become your good lady!
I recommend you to calm yourself. I never intended to send you both those letters.
Well, I was in doubt, and so I drew lots.
(L.)La, ma! why not? Marriage is a lottery; and only think how proud I should have been if I had been drawn a prize.
(R.)I shall never teach you to respect yourself. But my business, sir, is with you: as to my allowing such a man to marry my step-daughter, if you were even to go down on your knees—
(C.)Don't be alarmed, Mrs. P., I'm not going down on my knees.
Don't Mrs. P. me, sir.
My good woman—
How dare you call me a good woman?
Gently, Pointer, gently.
Pointer!—you've gone mad, sir!
On the contrary, I have come to my senses. But to business. You thought I wished to marry Miss Pointer?
Thought, sir? I know it.
Then you know more than I do.
Whether you wished it or not, you shall do it.
I tell you I won't; it's not my intention.
Then hear my intention. If there is a court of law—
Stop! there are plenty; but they require a plaintiff as well as a defendant. Now I'll settle your cause for you in a moment: if Miss Pointer will say that it is her wish, I am ready to marry her at a moment's notice.
Oh! thank you, mamma. Then nothing shall induce me to have Mr. Omnium for a husband.
Come away this instant.
Stay, Mrs. Pointer, and for your own sake be reasonable; I should be glad to make this visit pleasant to you:—you wish your step-daughter married?
Naturally.
She never will be.
Then it won't be my fault.
That is what I wished to come to—it will; you have frightened me, and you will frighten others; Miss Pointer deserves a good husband, but she will never get one while you loom in the back ground as a mother-in-law.
(L. C.)I shall not stay to be insulted, there are twenty men who would jump at her.
(C.)Now listen!—produce one of those twenty jumping men within an hour from this time, give your consent, and I will increase her small fortune with a cheque for three thousand pounds.
(R. C.)Not an h
Madam!
You have professed an affection, which I think you called ardent, for Miss Pointer?
I professed, madam, what I felt.
Oh, I dare say; you must be aware that I could have no personal objection to you?
Considerably.
I'm very glad to hear it: and, as Harriet will now have an addition of three thousand pounds—
You consent to our marriage?
Well, yes—I think so.
Write it then, or you won't get the money.
My dear Harriet!
Herbert, what unexpected happiness.
You know I never contradict you, mamma.
You always told me you didn't care about him?
No, mamma! you told me I didn't, and I never said a word.
And you told me you were attached to this Mr. Omnium?
No, mamma! you told me I was, and as I said, I never contradicted you.
That shews how mistaken you have been.
I shall be obliged to you not to interfere in my family affairs.
(L. C.)Exactly.
Harriet, take the cheque.
(L.)I can't, mamma, without my beloved husband's leave!
Bless me—so you're in love with him, are you?
Yes, mamma.
Then you have deceived me all this time?
Yes, mamma.
(R.)I beg your pardon, madam—I am to have that honour!
You, child? I am sorry for you, unless indeed you have one, who in her responsible capacity of mother-in-law—
Now don't let us revert to unpleasant topics —she hasn't.
Then she's to be pitied; and when you see how our house is managed—
(L. C.)Our house! My dear Mrs. Pointer, you don't suppose we shall quarter ourselves upon you?
No—but I shall live with you, of course, and give you the full benefit of my experience in managing all your affairs!
My dear madam, the sooner we understand one another the better; we shall be happy to receive you at all reasonable times, but my house will never have but one master and one mistress!
Then I withdraw my consent!
You can't;—I presume that was my friend Jacob's reason for causing you to give it in writing.
(R. C.)Charming!
(L. C.)Is it? And you think I'm sorry—you're mistaken; I prefer Mr. Manifest to you, infinitely—oh, infinitely; there's nothing I admire in a man like decision.
Then you ought to admire me, for I'm sure I was decided enough, when I said I wouldn't be your son-in-law.
You were; and, for the moment, I felt a sort of respect for your character,—allow me to hope you're better, Mr. Omnium!
I don't know—but allow me to rejoice that you are in better hands than mine.
Be good enough to ring for my maid, sir.
Mrs. Pointer's maid
You're not going to leave me, mamma, at such a moment?
It's high time I went, when everybody is rude!
For myself, Mrs. Pointer! I disclaim all intention of rudeness; I mean to be master in my own house, and I said so—in all else you will find me anxious to consult your wishes.
That gentleman never said half so much to me.
I'm sure, ma'am, this gentleman and his wife will be happy to shew all due respect to the kind protectress of their sister-in-law.
The world is not so bad as I thought; everybody, except Mr. Omnium, has grown suddenly
civil.
Grimsby, we're all going to be married—now is the time for your secret.
You shall have it, sir.
Were you ever married?
No, sir; and what's more, I'll take care I never will be.
What's that, Mr. Grimsby—then pray what becomes of your engagement to me?
I'm sure I never asked you.
You have chucked me under the chin at least twenty times, and I consider that equivocal.
If it's equivocal it admits of argument.
I got hold of the wrong word—I meant equivalent.
Equivocal or equivalent, England is at this moment peculiarly jealous of the honour and
character of
That doesn't admit of argument. Mrs. Warner, I am yours, name the day.
Very well, then if you please, this day month—
You can't forget your old habits.
I've no particular objection, but I never can approve of your letting chance decide in so important a matter as marriage.
Can't you, Mrs. P.?—then I must appeal to those whose kind approbation can, in a moment, change that chance into a certainty. Please to sanction our Marriage Lottery—and as you confer happiness on us, so may all happiness be yours, when the turn comes to you.