First produced at the Royal Strand Theatre, (under the management of Mr. Swanborough, Sen.,) Thursday, February 20, 1862.
SCENE—SYMMETRY'S GARDEN.
TIME—THE PRESENT.
Costumes—MODERN.
I never saw anything soft in the sex; precious clear-headed,
sharp-sighted bandits I've found 'em all. Still, I left London, buried myself in the country,
and picked my neighbours; there isn't a pretty girl in the village–in fact, all the women
squint, except three, who're blind and can't, so I naturally thought I should be allowed to
exist in a comparative state of safety; and yet this week has annihilated all my hopes, not
only has that unutterable imbecile of a Clarence taken a house nearly next door, with that
sky-larking cousin of mine, his wife, but now, by way of piling up the agony, I receive this
impertinent and cold-blooded epistle. Let me see it once more. loo me among 'em! Well,
if things come to the worst I can emigrate; I should be safe in some Ojibbeway settlement, and
that's what I shall have to do. –That villanous codicil!
Well, here I am, cousin Septimus!
Yes, here you are–
Gallant as ever; what now?
Just run your eye over my wretched face, and the other over that horrid dispatch.
As that would involve an absolute squint, cousin, I shall devote both my eyes to the letter,
with your permission.
Why this is absolutely delightful, Septimus.
Is it?
Poor Falcon Hope! how glad I shall be to see him again; you know he was somewhat smitten with me once.
Was he? I'm not surprised; he seems fool enough for anything.
Thank you. But whom did he marry? he calls her Violet; what was her other name?
Fane.
Indeed! why this is better and better; oh! what a delicious meeting; why you must know that my dear old Colonel proposed to her, before he saw me.
He seems rather partial to ladies, young enough to be his daughters; as some ladies I have heard of, take fancies to men old enough to be their grandfathers.
Very well aimed, cousin, but it misses the mark; bless you, you can't put me out of conceit with my dear old husband; not that he's an hour older than I approve of, for to tell you a very sober truth, Septimus, I admire gray hair, and were I free tomorrow, would rather marry a man of fifty, than one of twenty.
Well, I can only reply, that you're a woman, and there's no understanding any one of the sex; all I know is, the dear Colonel's a precious old ape.
Cousin!
And tries to make love to every girl he meets.
He is welcome to do so if it amuses him. It's no use, Septimus, you can't put me out of temper. Now do you know what I've made up my mind to do?
That's good! No ma'am; what you've made up that very small parcel you call your mind for, I do not know.
Well, I've made up my mind to marry you.
The deuce you have! are you going to assassinate your other husband?
Not yet.
Well, we can't have any bigamy, so how are you going to do it?
You foolish fellow, you don't suppose I'm going to marry you myself; I mean I'll marry you to some one else.
Will you? You're very kind I'm sure.
Yes! depend upon it; I shall see you married before long.
You may see me hanged; it's much more likely –in fact its not improbable that I shall hang myself, if this persecution is to go on.
And pray in default of wife and family, may I take the liberty of asking, to whom you intend to leave all your money?
I shall endow a college for decayed bachelors–for those heroes who have fought the good fight and come off victorious. Stop a moment, there's one legacy I mean to leave, and that's to a lady.
A lady! you leave a legacy to a lady?
Yes! to the only woman I really respect on earth.
How complimentary you are, cousin.
Am I? I beg your pardon, I didn't intend it. But it is a debt of gratitude I am bound to discharge. I was once–I presume in a fit of temporary insanity–rash enough to propose to that lady.
Good gracious! and she?
The blessings of a grateful heart upon her, she refused me! I feel the heavy amount of obligation I owe her, and shall feebly attempt to discharge it, by leaving her a thousand pounds.
Oh, cousin! why didn't you ask me, I'd have refused you for five hundred?
Then you'd have done it very reasonably, that's all I have to say; but I say, are you not wasting your time here? you must have a great deal to do at home.
Oh, bless you, no! Clarence and I intended spending
week, in the same house with two married women and one little Loo?
Exactly! unless we can induce them to stay a fortnight!
Then I had better send for a keeper and a straight waistcoat at once, that's all.
By-the-bye, who is little Loo?
Oh, what do I know or care about little Loo! I only hope they'll lose her on the
road.
You are full of wit and humanity, cousin; but here comes my lord and master, so I'll take
myself off.
I can't blame him for coming, when he affects so pleasant a diversion in my favour; and when
he has succeeded in the desirable manœuvre of taking you off, I trust that some
providential interference will take him off too.
I shall take the liberty, in return for that highly complimentary remark, of superintending the preparation of the best bed rooms in the house for your visitors– no thanks –and sans adieu!–for I shall see that agreeable face of yours again very shortly.
Shall you? I think it doubtful. Now to be bored by Clarence and his twaddle–for next to
being talked to by a woman, the most objectionable thing is being talked to
about women, and he can talk of nothing else–ha! an idea! Surely, from what Isabel
told me about the previous attachments between these two couples, I can create some confusion
among 'em, and punish these men for forcing their wives upon me. I shall be on the look
out.
I say, Symmetry, I'll swear I saw the skirt of a petticoat vanish past the shrubbery. Are you stealing a march upon us after all, eh?
You did see a petticoat, Colonel, and one you ought to know and tremble at. It was your wife.
Oh, was it?
Yes, as disastrous news as need be. I've got some women coming to see me.
Women? Electric sound!
Galvanic shock!
Are they young–pretty?
You ought to be the best judge of that, as one of them was an old flame of yours.
Ah!
I'm told so–or perhaps it was her mother.
Sir!
Well, how can I tell? This, is a young woman, once known as Violet Fane.
Violet Fane!
Have I? Is there anything in it?
Yes, sir–crushed affections, blighted hopes, and bitter memories. That young person, sir, once rejected this hand–declined this person–renounced this heart.
No–did she, though?
Symmetry, I am not quite certain that I ought to meet that young person.
Well, luckily for you, it's optional whether you do or not. I wish I could say the
same. I should certainly advise you to go home at once, and take your wife with you.
No–that would be cowardly, despicable. I will brave destiny and see her.
I say, just allow me to observe that I don't see what destiny you have to brave, in connexion with Mrs. Hope. I believe you have formed a matrimonial alliance with another lady, and I, sir, as the cousin of that lady, cannot permit – Pshaw! – What do I care about it? Do as you like–shoot the husband–marry the widow–get hanged for murder, or transported for bigamy. What the deuce is it to me?
This is strange language, Mr. Symmetry.
Well, then, don't compel me to ruffle my serene temper about a woman. See! you've brought one upon us!
Oh! cousin, they are coming; I saw them drive up to the gate, and I saw little Loo, and she's the queerest looking thing! I told Charles to send them at once into the garden––isn't it delightful, my dear Clarence? Of course you know all about it?
Yes, my dear, yes.
Not they ––with such a fascinating host; see, here they come!
Oh! I'm not going to look fascinating; they shan't
For goodness sake, cousin!
Ah, Symmetry, my dear fellow!
I'm very glad to see you,
I have another friend here, Symmetry, my cousin Loo; Louisa, come here and be introduced, will you?
Yes, if you like –it isn't of any great consequence.
You have friends here too, Symmetry; pray make us acquainted?
No–yes–that is
This is not Miss Brandon, but the wife of that gentleman, Colonel Clarence.
You know this gentleman, Violet?
Which Mrs. Clarence will be delighted to extend, Mr. Hope.
Which Mrs. Hope is charmed to renew, colonel.
Delightful!
Delicious!
Louisa!
For shame!
You appear to be very fond of flowers, Mr. Symmetry.
Yes, ma'am, of all but orange blossoms.
Never mind him, Violet–he's quite incurable; what with Symmetry's denunciations of women, and little Loo's onslaughts upon men, we may expect some fun. But come, Sym, show us round the grounds–the ladies will join us.
I think you must excuse us at present–these ladies may have some change to make in their
dress. What say you, madam?
I would rather defer the pleasure until by-and-bye.
We shall not be long, Falcon.
Oh, pray don't hurry.
This way, ladies.
Oh, never mind the sun, so that the daughters are extinguished.
I say Sym, you've hit upon a nice North American Indian style of dressing your hair.
Yes, I may as well get into their ways at once; I shall be among 'em soon I fancy.
What may you mean by that?
Well, I may as well tell you all about it, altho' I don't much like telling secrets to
married men; however, I'll risk it. You may have remarked that I have usually a good flow of
spirits?
Certainly.
Always cheerful.
All assumed; there is a canker, gentlemen, at my heart's core.
What?
Where?
Fact–tell you all about it. You know that old Guy Fawkes of an uncle of mine, who left me all his property ?
Certainly; my father made the will.
He did, and be hanged to him! Do you happen to know the fiendish codicil he attached to that will?
Well, the human mind is scarcely capable of conceiving such cold-blooded inhumanity; he actually tacked this condition to his bequest–that if I did not marry before I was thirty-five years of age, nearly the whole of the property goes to another person.
Awkward.
Why, sir–to culminate his diabolical ingenuity–a woman, sir actually a woman–a certain Miss Dudley, whom I never saw!
And is Miss Dudley aware of this state of things?
No–she is to be kept in the dark till the time arrives.
And how old are you now, pray?
Who–I–how old? Oh! rising thirty-four.
Will you swear you are not thirty-five next week?
Certainly not–I'll swear I am.
Mar–– Don't be offensive, sir!
Then, what the deuce do you mean to do?
Why, if there is any way of circumventing this female Dudley–
Don't imagine it; my father is too careful to have left any loophole, and depend upon it, he will see the matter properly carried out, for his own reputation's sake.
Then I shall go and join a tribe of Chocktaw Indians, get tattooed, and live comfortably;
but don't let's talk any more about it we've got the week before us, and we'll amuse
ourselves.
Marry my young friend–marry, by all means.
Oh!–you've always some sensible advice to give; but even if I were maniac enough to entertain the idea, how could I be sure of getting the right wife. Now here's a case in point. My friend Hope, here, you know, was desperately in love with Isabel–
What, sir?
Oh, dear yes, Colonel, didn't you know that? it was the merest chance in the world that you got her–I know she was extravagantly in love with Hope.
This, I presume, sir, was the "flying acquaintance" you had with Miss Brandon?
My dear Colonel, this is an egregious error on our friend's part. I certainly did meet Miss Brandon, and might have been dazzled for the moment–but only for the moment, believe me.
This is a delicate subject, and I hardly know how to treat it.
Treat it as it deserves, Colonel–it is mere nonsense, be assured. Any partiality I may have felt for Miss Brandon has long since been merged in my devotion to my wife.
As a man of honour, sir, I am bound to believe you.
Yes, that's all very well, but there's another case in point–the Colonel, here, ought by right to have married Miss Fane.
Sir!
Bless you, yes–didn't you know that, my dear Hope? they were mad after each other.
This, I presume, Colonel, was the "slight acquaintance" you spoke of?
The fact is, Mr. Hope–I once that is to say––
Twice, perhaps–come, no shuffling–speak out.
Well, now that I have put you on a friendly footing, and already demonstrated to you that you have each of you married the wrong woman, let us go and look round the property.
By all means.
Believe me, my dear Mrs. Hope, I am delighted, as Mr. Symmetry's cousin, to receive you in his house, and shall do my best to entertain you.
Believe me, my dear madam, I am equally delighted with the fact of becoming your guest.
I intend that you and I shall be very intimate friends.
An intention I shall only be too happy to second.
And to show you how sincere I am, I am about to take the privilege of an old friend thus early, by asking you a favour.
Dear me, how remarkable––do you know, I was about to ask one of you?
No?
No!
The fact is
My object
You said you wished to ask a favour –pray speak.
Pray let me have the pleasure of obliging you first.
This will never do–let us be frank–I will set the example. I am perfectly aware that previous to my marriage, Clarence had the good taste to make proposals to you.
You knew it?
Yes, and I know something else, of which you may be probably ignorant, namely, that before your marriage, Mr. Hope had the bad taste to do me the same honour.
Oh, be very easy, my dear–if I had liked him, I should have married him – as I didn't, I married somebody else. Now, we are both sensible women, and perfectly contented with the husbands we have –is it not so?
On my side–undoubtedly.
Now, that we understand each other, let us to the business, or rather pleasure of a mutual obligation–will you commence?
No–do you.
Very well–you must promise not to be angry.
Gladly, for I shall have to exact the same promise from you.
That's agreed, then, on either side. Well, you must know that during the trifling intercourse between Mr. Hope and myself–
That is exactly as I should begin–substituting Colonel Clarence.
I was indiscreet enough–
The very word–our stories commence quite harmoniously.
Indiscreet enough to–
Enter into a correspondence; go on.
Not at all, I never wrote the man a line in my life.
Good gracious! then what were you indiscreet enough to do?
I was miserably weak enough to give him my portrait.
Oh!
Now, my dear Mrs. Hope, only get me back that stupid portrait, and I will do anything in the wide world for you, in return.
I must be frank, also; I will take up your story at the word "indiscreet." I was indiscreet enough to
To give Clarence your likeness.
Never; not even a black profile.
Then, what in mercy's name were you indiscreet enough to do?
To write him certain ridiculous, unmeaning letters. Oh! Mrs. Clarence, only get me back those letters–
Ha! ha! your letters for my portrait–a bargain! Now, it's just possible Mr. Hope may have that portrait with him.
Oh, dear no, I am quite sure he couldn't do that.
Bless you, men do those things! Clarence carries one or two about with him wherever he goes; but he knows I am not jealous, so pray don't you be so.
Oh! bless you, not the least in the world.
Now, look here, I have the privilege of all my dear husband's desks, &c. I'll tell you what we'll do–can you overlook Mr. Hope's dressing-case and trunks?
I have the keys of everything,
Good, then we'll not lose a moment, you go and search for my portrait, whilst, I run home and search for your letters.
Agreed.
And as we may have no other opportunity of a private conversation, we may as well fix upon some signal of success or failure in our search––I shall be in an agony till I know.
And I, in absolute despair!
Let me see, I have it–a red rose shall be the signal of success, a white one of failure.
Agreed; but if I meet Falcon first, and he sees me with a flower, it's in his coat the next moment.
I'm full of ideas this morning, I have another, we'll make my cousin Symmetry our signal post–we will each, when we meet him, present him with a rose, white or red, as it may be.
But he will never receive a flower from a lady.
Bless you, he couldn't in common courtesy refuse one from you, and I'll make him take mine.
So be it, then; had we not better proceed to work at once?
The sooner the better; stay, to guard against contingencies, it will be as well if we succeed to deposit our spoil in the summer house, there no one ever enters it–you can put the picture in at that little window, as I will the letters; so we can take possession, without suspicion, at any time.
I shall remember, and fortune grant us success!
Amen to that sweet prayer.
Thank goodness I've made my escape from those married men! their conversation, to say the least of it, is of a highly objectionable character–in fact, it's hopeless twaddle; they talk nothing but nonsense, and they don't even talk that well. Hilloa! here comes little Loo, the "man-hater," as Falcon calls her, so much the better.
So, young lady, I've heard your character from the gentlemen.
And I yours from the ladies; they were neither, I believe, worth hearing.
And you hate men, do you?
As much as you hate women.
Then, of course, you hate me.
Oh! I can just put up with you; there's not much of you, and what there is, is not of much account.
Not till a "hot January," as Beatrice says.
Ah! that would have been a magnificent play if Shakespeare had not spoiled it by making Benedict fool enough to marry Beatrice.
Reverse it, and say if he had not made Beatrice fool enough to marry Benedict.
Let us accommodate matters by setting them both down as fools together.
Just my opinion.
Indifferently so at present–the orange blossoms haven't faded yet.
Orange blossoms! Bah! I'd as soon see a woman with spring onions in her bonnet!
Just my opinion.
We really agree in a most surprising manner. I must know more of you.
You know enough; you'll like me less the more you know of me.
That's very possible; but do you know you're about the only woman whose visit I have ever approved of.
I am an involuntary visitor–they brought me here. I had no wish to come, be assured.
I like you all the better for it–that is, mind, I don't mean that I like you at all.
It's very immaterial what. Have you anything more to say?
Not at present, I think. Oh!–stop–yes–you adhere to that resolution of yours–never marry. If they would compel you, run away, and never be taken alive.
Let me return that invaluable advice; and be assured if ever I should marry, I should do so simply to be revenged on your whole sex, by the torture of that particular man I married.
Delightful candour!
I'd thwart him–contradict him–plague him–worry him.
In short, I'd drive him mad–there!
You wouldn't have very far to drive him; he'd be half way there before he ventured upon you.
I'm afraid you'll think me very free and plain spoken, but its my nature; if you object to it, say so, and I'll go back to town.
Object? Bless you, no–you have such correct views
To my shame and sorrow, yes.
Well, they're all trifles to what the woman would get who married me.
I'm sure she would deserve all she received; and now, sir, good morning.
Good morning, miss; I think we quite understand each other, and we've had a very pleasant
and intellectual conversation.
Oh, pray don't mention it; and above all, pray don't think of thanking me.
I'm sure you'll excuse my running away–
Oh, certainly.
As I have left little Loo in your pretty conservatory.
And a pretty conservatory it will be when little Loo comes out of it, I expect. Now, what does this white rose mean? there's some design in it, I'll lay a wager. Eh? what? no! yes! why, damn it! here's another woman bearing down, with another rose. Its my free and easy cousin. Oh, I must get out of this!
Don't get excited, my dear Septimus, but just put this rose in your coat, and compose yourself you know how I love you.
Am I to be stuck all over with roses ?–if I do, I'm–
Don't be a little ruffian! now just attend to me, if you don't put this rose in your coat directly, sir, I'll sit by your side, and talk to you all the evening.
I'm sure I will–good bye!
Ta, ta, cousin! I declare you look quite handsome,
Confound these women! now what is the meaning of all this? first of all, the female Hope brings me a white rose–then the female Clarence brings me a red rose–I suppose little Loo'll bring me something presently––a moss rose, perhaps, or a wreath of orange blossoms, or a stick of rhubarb from the kitchen garden! It's quite clear I'm being victimized. I see no way for it, but to pack up a small portmanteau, steal out of the back door, and "wait for the waggon!" and I'll go and do it. Ah!–catch it, Symmetry, my boy–an idea! and what an idea! beautiful! Now, my rosy beauties, I'll spoil your little game, whatever it is. I'll just give–ah, here's Falcon, that'll do very nicely. I'll begin with him–I'll entangle 'em.
Why, Symmetry, what the plague do you mean by running away from your friends in this manner? What have you been about?
Oh, bless you, I've been making myself agreeable to the ladies.
The deuce you have! Well, as you've been so laudably and unusually occupied, I cannot complain.
Had a chat with little Loo.
Sensible girl that!
I believe you.
Rather strong minded, perhaps.
Well, rather.
Now, she'd make you an excellent wife, Sym.
Yes, I dare say she would, thank you.
I have always promised myself to get you a wife.
You're very kind; when I want one, I'll drop you a line. Then I've been doing floricultural commissions for the other ladies.
And I see they've not forgotten to reward you for your trouble.
Hush! You see this red rose?
Clearly; and a very fine one it is.
Well–it's for you.
For me! From whom?
Never mind that; you take it, and ask no questions.
Oh, nonsense! I must know who sent it.
Well, I don't think the party who sent it ought to have sent it, and I ought not to have brought it; but then a woman can't do as she ought, and I'm such an obliging blockhead.
Well, but who is the sender?
Oh, if I must tell you. Here–Isabella Clarence,
Oh, that's a secret; – you want to know a great deal too much at once. Let me give you a piece of wholesome advice: never prick your fingers with the thorns of other people's roses.
Oh, I see; little Loo gave it you.
Well, she did give it me rather–in one sense–but she didn't give me this rose; the fact is, as you are so preciously inquisitive, I had it from Mrs. Hope.
Then why couldn't you say so at once? What harm is there in your wearing a rose given you by my wife?
I don't suppose there'd be any particular harm if I wore a wreath of roses; but it isn't for me.
No! For whom then?
Well, you will know. I told you you'd better not; but if you will, it's not my fault it's for Colonel Clarence.
What, sir!–impossible!
Oh, you think it quite possible for Mrs. Clarence to send you a rose, but quite impossible for Mrs. Hope to send one to Colonel Clarence?
A different thing, sir, altogether!
Well, I look upon it as a mere tit for tat arrangement, but you know best; if you say it is impossible, I dare say it is.
Pooh, Sym, you're only joking.
Now just look at me attentively, and tell me candidly, whether I have the appearance of a man who's given to joking.
This is not to be borne, sir; if it be so, I know my course; if it be not so, lock to yourself.
Number one settled. I'll teach 'em how to upset a quiet gentleman's establishment, with their wives, and little Loos, and roses, and orange blossoms, and–ha! here's Clarence.
Have you seen Isabella, Symmetry?
Gone home, Colonel.
Oh! she'll soon be back, I suppose?
I'm afraid so.
That's a very handsome white rose of yours.
It's no rose of mine.
Indeed!
Don't make a noise–it's yours.
Mine! To what lovely creature am I indebted for this precious gift ?
Why, to me, of course.
Psha! Oh, I see, it's from that pretty little girl they call Louisa!
Go along, you old peacock! that pretty little girl they call Louisa, would be more likely to send you a bunch of stinging nettles.
Well, I must know who sent it, come.
Oh! very good, just as you please, only you'd better know nothing about it; why, you irresistible old warrior, it's from Violet Hope.
Is it possible!
Not often, only occasionally. I know a very recent case––
Ah!
Yes, Isabel has just sent Falcon Hope a red rose.
Who? Sent what? Am I to understand–
Precisely what I said, you'll see it in his button hole.
And if I do, sir, I'll pluck it out, and force it down
Number two disposed of, and I think the quarrel a very pretty one as it stands; therefore, I
shall interfere in it no further. I'll just place myself in a place of observation–Ah! that
summer house is the very thing; I shall deposit myself in that private box, and enjoy an
uninterrupted view of the entire entertainment. Hilloa! here comes one of the play actors!
Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, just a going to begin.
It was all true, I charged the perfidious woman with having had a white rose in her possession, and she could not deny it; but by no threats, or entreaties, or commands, could I make her confess for what purpose she procured it. Never mind, I have only now to blow out the brains of that rascally old Colonel, and my business here, is at an end. I'm not sure that I ought not to blow Symmetry's brains out too!
Hilloa! come I say!
For daring to lend himself to such a piece of base disloyalty! However, first to find this man Clarence.
I think I've got him up to fever heat and a degree or two over–good! here comes another of the company, the heavy old man.
True, true! every damned word of it true! The brazen hussey owned to the having a red rose, and when I threatened to annihilate her unless she told me why she gathered it, the baggage laughed in my face, and said it was a secret––A secret! my honour a secret, in the hands of that chattering little villain, Symmetry!
But where is this fellow Hope? I'll shoot him like a dog! and as for Symmetry, I'll horsewhip him within an inch of his life.
Nowhere to be seen–ha! so, sir, at last!
Well met, sir; I have to demand of you an account of that red rose you wear in your coat.
You forestall me, sir; I was about to demand of you an account of that white rose you wear so ostentatiously.
And suppose I refuse to render an account, sir.
You are aware of the alternative, Colonel Clarence.
I wear Her Majesty's uniform, sir, which is a sufficient answer.
Can you furnish the weapon ?
If you will use mine.
Unquestionably.
Be kind enough to accompany me then.
Why, what on earth's the matter?
Nothing that concerns you, Louisa–go away.
Indeed I shall not, till I know the meaning of this strange conduct.
My dear young lady, it will be sufficient for you to understand that I am dishonoured by the rose Mr. Hope now wears.
And I equally so by that worn by Colonel Clarence.
Oh, if that's the only cause of quarrel, shake hands.
For you are quarrelling about things that don't concern you.
What!
What!
I myself saw both those roses given to Mr. Symmetry.
I am perfectly aware of that, but they were not for him.
I beg your pardon; I heard Mrs. Hope say, "My dear Mr. Symmetry, you cannot refuse to wear this rose, for my sake;" and Mrs. Clarence said, "Put this rose in your coat and compose yourself–you know how I love you."
Now, gentlemen, you can of course do as you please; but if you must fight, you at least know who should be your antagonist.
It appears we have been a trifle too hasty in this matter, Mr. Hope.
We have, Colonel; and I, as the younger, frankly ask your pardon.
You are an honourable young man, sir, and I ask yours with all my heart.
So this Mr. Symmetry, this woman-hater, has dared to tamper with us in this way.
I have long suspected him; I believe his expressed antipathy to the sex to be sheer hypocrisy and assumed, merely to cloak the vilest enormities.
Our views with regard to him are identical.
I understand you–certainly.
The only question is which shall have the first shot at him.
I claim that, by virtue of seniority.
I think it is rather due to me as a guest.
I cannot consent to waive my right.
Well, let us each go in search of him. Whichever is lucky enough to meet him first shall take precedence.
Agreed; but we may as well change roses first.
And I this.
Well, I think I've done it now; I've certainly put this handsome foot of mine pretty deeply
into it. I must be off; I should like to tumble across little Loo, though, before I go.
I'd–I'd I'd–what's this packet? "Letters from Violet." Why, I found 'em among the tools in the
summer house; she must have been in correspondence with the gardener! She's a beauty! but I
can't stop to overhaul 'em now, I shall have the Philistines upon me.
Stop, sir!
Can't–violent hurry!
Stop, sir!
Don Juan!
Lovelace!
Faublas!
Go on!–anybody else?
Hypocrite!
Traitor!
Is this your friendship?
Is this your hospitality?
I wish to gracious you'd all of you go back to London.
This rose was given to you, sir, by my wife.
And this by mine.
Yes; and I wish both your wives would let my roses alone.
He admits it!
Unblushingly!
Of course I do.
Roses are not given without a motive, sir.
Well, then, go and ask the women what the motive was.
This bravado will not serve your turn, sir. You have been guilty of a gross violation of friendship and honour, and shall answer it.
Yes, sir; gross violation–friendship–honour– answer it!
Now I tell you what it is, gentlemen, I'm not a going to be bullied on my own freehold property–if I only had a lease of the place I wouldn't stand it! What do you two maniacs want?
Satisfaction!
Satisfaction!
Well, I like that–you bring your wives and your little Lou here; they scour my plantations, like female Cossacks– pilfer my roses, and thrust them into my button holes, and now you ask for satisfaction; damme, I'll go in for damages.
Well, after all this bluster, sir, I presume you are prepared to fight?
Just like your presumption, sir; I'm prepared for nothing of the sort.
Come sir, enough of this.
Quite enough–rather too much; let's have no more of it.
You don't escape me thus, sir.
Nor me, I promise you.
Now I tell you what it is; if I work myself into a passion, if I give way to the stupendous
and ungovernable frenzy of anger, if I open the floodgates of my temper, and set free the
resistless torrent of my overwhelming fury, if in short, you put my all-round collar up, I
shall pulverize the pair of you!
If you've no objection, we'll fight like gentlemen, not like costermongers.
Oh, I've frightened you, have I? I thought I should stop your blustering; but as I am strong, I can be merciful.
The man's mad!
Raving!
What! my clemency disdained? then away with it, Colonel; in consequence of the excessive disproportion of your years–I mean nothing offensive–years, not ears, I may forgive you.
Bah!
What do I see? "Letters from Violet!"
Give up those letters, sir.
Never, with life.
Your life I'll have then, if I blow you into a thousand fragments! I will have those letters. Colonel, fetch the pistols.
Pistols!
Yes, ladies! you have succeeded in fulfilling the mission of women; you have brought with you confusion, mischief, discord, ruin and bloodshed! I am the victim of two wives, belonging to my friends; of two roses belonging to myself; and of one little Lou, belonging to no one in particular.
Oh, nonsense!
Oh, yes, and I?
Certainly!
Come here, Clarence, come here I say, directly.
Falcon, dear.
Traitress!
One word only.
Dear me, Mr. Symmetry, where are you going in such a hurry?
Oh, have they?
And there are two courses open to you; you will have either to exchange shots with Colonel Clarence and myself, or else–
Yes, sir, or else–
Well, out with it, what else?
You will marry.
What! Perhaps you'll be good enough to go and fetch the pistols.
You had better marry, sir.
Consider, cousin, it's a painful thing to be shot.
Get away, both of you! shoot me and bury me in the stable–the women never go there.
Go and fetch the pistols, Colonel.
Well; but stop a minute, suppose, I say I'll mar–ry –I can't get the word out–who the deuce
am I to marry?
What do you say to little Loo?
Oh, little Loo, again!
Of course!
Won't do.
Won't it? well then, miss–
You must kneel down.
Certainly.
That's the position.
Go along with you, I shan't!
Very good, the pistols will soon be here.
It'll do very well, only be sharp yourself.
You see before you, miss, an orphan, and a man of independent property; the victim of an act of ruffianism, from which there is no escape, but by the perpetration of this act of idiotcy; under these circumstances, miss, I have to make you an offer of my hand; either of 'em, right or left, I don't care which, what do you say? be quick please.
Well, sir, considering there's very little of you, and not fearing I shall ever love you too violently–
But more particularly, to save you from being shot, I consent.
Eh! catch me somebody;
Perfectly; I am singular in my notions, and maybe overstepping the bounds of prudence and maidenly propriety; but it is to save a worthy man from an aimless and joyless existence, to which a false prejudice is condemning him.
False prejudice?
Yes, sir; the defamers of women are generally either fools or libertines; depend upon it, the highest honour of a man's home, the purest part of a man's possessions, the highest lustre of a man's life is, the love of a true and honest woman.
And now permit me to observe, that this proceeding was a necessity on Mr. Symmetry's part, for in the event of his remaining unmarried beyond this week, all his property would be forfeited to–
Oh, never mind her name!
What!
Little Loo, Miss Dudley!
Yes, by his uncle's will. It was a bit of deception on my part, Sym, to bring her here, but you will understand and appreciate my intention.
Oh, is it so? no man but a malicious or a foolish one would make such a will, therefore, Mr. Symmetry, I release you from your engagement.
No, no, no!
And rest assured you shall remain in full possession of your property.
What, a woman, and so magnanimous! then I say no, no, no, too.