MRS. PRIOR.--How do you do, my DEAR madam? Is dear Mr. Bonnington QUITE
well? What a sweet, sweet sermon he gave us last Sunday. I often say
to my girl, I must not go to hear Mr. Bonnington, I really must not, he
makes me cry so. Oh! he is a great and gifted man, and shall I not have
one glimpse of him?
MRS. B.--Saturday evening, my good Mrs. Prior. Don't you know that my
husband never goes out on Saturday, having his sermon to compose?
MRS. P.--Oh, those dear, dear sermons! Do you know, madam, that my
little Adolphus, for whom your son's bounty procured his place at
Christ's Hospital, was very much touched indeed, the dear child, with
Mr. Bonnington's discourse last Sunday three weeks, and refused to play
marbles afterwards at school? The wicked, naughty boys beat the poor
child; but Adolphus has his consolation! Is Master Edward well, ma'am,
and Master Robert, and Master Frederick, and dear little funny Master
William?
MRS. B.--Thank you, Mrs. Prior; you have a good heart, indeed!
MRS. P.--Ah, what blessings those dears are to you! I wish your dearest
little GRANDSON---
MRS. B.--The little naughty wretch! Do you know, Mrs. Prior, my
grandson, George Milliken, spilt the ink over my dear husband's bands,
which he keeps in his great dictionary; and fought with my child,
Frederick, who is three years older than George--actually beat his own
uncle!
MRS. P.--Gracious mercy! Master Frederick was not hurt, I hope?
MRS. B.--No; he cried a great deal; and then Robert came up, and that
graceless little George took a stick; and then my husband came out, and
do you know George Milliken actually kicked Mr. Bonnington on his shins,
and butted him like a little naughty ram?
MRS. P.--Mercy! mercy! what a little rebel! He is spoiled, dear madam,
and you know by WHOM.
MRS. B.--By his grandmamma Kicklebury. I know it. I want my son to whip
that child, but he refuses. He will come to no good; that child.
MRS. P.--Ah, madam, don't say so! Let us hope for the best. Master
George's high temper will subside when certain persons who pet him are
gone away.
MRS. B.--Gone away! they never will go away! No, mark my words, Mrs.
Prior, that woman will never go away. She has made the house her own:
she commands everything and everybody in it. She has driven me--me--Mr.
Milliken's own mother--almost out of it. She has so annoyed my dear
husband, that Mr. Bonnington will scarcely come here. Is she not always
sneering at private tutors, because Mr. Bonnington was my son's private
tutor, and greatly valued by the late Mr. Milliken? Is she not making
constant allusions to old women marrying young men, because Mr.
Bonnington happens to be younger than me? I have no words to express my
indignation respecting Lady Kicklebury. She never pays any one, and
runs up debts in the whole town. Her man Bulkeley's conduct in the
neighborhood is quite--quite--
MRS. P.--Gracious goodness, ma'am, you don't say so! And then what an
appetite the gormandizing monster has! Mary tells me that what he eats
in the servants' hall is something perfectly frightful.
MRS. B.--Everybody feeds on my poor son! You are looking at my cap, Mrs.
Prior? [During this time MRS. PRIOR has been peering into a parcel which
MRS. BONNINGTON brought in her hand.] I brought it with me across the
Park. I could not walk through the Park in my cap. Isn't it a pretty
ribbon, Mrs. Prior?
MRS. P.--Beautiful! beautiful? How blue becomes you! Who would think you
were the mother of Mr. Milliken and seven other darling children? You
can afford what Lady Kicklebury cannot.
MRS. B.--And what is that, Prior? A poor clergyman's wife, with a large
family, cannot afford much.
MRS. P.--He! he! You can afford to be seen as you are, which Lady K.
cannot. Did you not remark how afraid she seemed lest I should enter her
dressing-room? Only Pinhorn, her maid, goes there, to arrange the
roses, and the lilies, and the figure--he! he! Oh, what a sweet, sweet
cap-ribbon! When you have worn it, and are tired of it, you will give it
me, won't you? It will be good enough for poor old Martha Prior!
MRS. B.--Do you really like it? Call at Greenwood Place, Mrs. Prior, the
next time you pay Richmond a visit, and bring your little girl with you,
and we will see.
MRS. P.--Oh, thank you! thank you! Nay, don't be offended! I must! I
must! [Kisses MRS. BONNINGTON.]
MRS. B.--There, there! We must not stay chattering! The bell has rung. I
must go and put the cap on, Mrs. Prior.
MRS. P.--And I may come too? YOU are not afraid of my seeing your hair,
dear Mrs. Bonnington! Mr. Bonnington too young for YOU! Why, you don't
look twenty!
MRS. B.--Oh, Mrs. Prior!
MRS. P.--Well, five-and-twenty, upon my word--not more than
five-and-twenty--and that is the very prime of life. [Exeunt Mrs. B. and
Mrs. P., hand in hand. As Captain TOUCHIT enters, dressed for dinner, he
bows and passes on.]
TOUCHIT.--So, we are to wear our white cravats, and our varnished boots,
and dine in ceremony. What is the use of a man being a widower, if he
can't dine in his shooting-jacket? Poor Mill! He has the slavery now
without the wife. [He speaks sarcastically to the picture.] Well, well!
Mrs. Milliken! YOU, at any rate, are gone; and with the utmost respect
for you, I like your picture even better than the original. Miss Prior!
Enter Miss PRIOR.
MISS PRIOR.--I beg pardon. I thought you were gone to dinner. I heard
the second bell some time since. [She is drawing back.]
TOUCHIT.--Stop! I say, Julia! [She returns, he looks at her, takes her
hand.] Why do you dress yourself in this odd poky way? You used to be
a very smartly dressed girl. Why do you hide your hair, and wear such a
dowdy, high gown, Julia?
JULIA.--You mustn't call me Julia, Captain Touchit.
TOUCHIT.--Why? when I lived in your mother's lodging, I called you
Julia. When you brought up the tea, you didn't mind being called Julia.
When we used to go to the play with the tickets the Editor gave us, who
lived on the second floor--
JULIA.--The wretch!--don't speak of him!
TOUCHIT.--Ah! I am afraid he was a sad deceiver, that Editor. He was
a very clever fellow. What droll songs he used to sing! What a heap of
play-tickets, diorama-tickets, concert-tickets, he used to give you! Did
he touch your heart, Julia?
JULIA.--Fiddlededee! No man ever touched my heart, Captain Touchit.
TOUCHIT.--What! not even Tom Flight, who had the second floor after the
Editor left it--and who cried so bitterly at the idea of going out to
India without you? You had a tendre for him--a little passion--you know
you had. Why, even the ladies here know it. Mrs. Bonnington told me that
you were waiting for a sweetheart in India to whom you were engaged; and
Lady Kicklebury thinks you are dying in love for the absent swain.
JULIA.--I hope--I hope--you did not contradict them, Captain Touchit.
TOUCHIT.--Why not, my dear?
JULIA.--May I be frank with you? You were a kind, very kind friend to
us--to me, in my youth.
TOUCHIT.--I paid my lodgings regularly, and my bills without asking
questions. I never weighed the tea in the caddy, or counted the lumps of
sugar, or heeded the rapid consumption of my liqueur--
JULIA.--Hush, hush! I know they were taken. I know you were very good to
us. You helped my poor papa out of many a difficulty.
TOUCHIT [aside].--Tipsy old coal-merchant! I did, and he helped himself
too.
JULIA.--And you were always our best friend, Captain Touchit. When our
misfortunes came, you got me this situation with Mrs. Milliken--and,
and--don't you see?--
TOUCHIT.--Well--what?
JULIA [laughing].--I think it is best, under the circumstances, that the
ladies here should suppose I am engaged to be married--or or, they might
be--might be jealous, you understand. Women are sometimes jealous of
others,--especially mothers and mothers-in-law.
TOUCHIT.--Oh, you arch schemer! And it is for that you cover up that
beautiful hair of yours, and wear that demure cap?
JULIA [slyly].--I am subject to rheumatism in the head, Captain Touchit.
TOUCHIT.--It is for that you put on the spectacles, and make yourself
look a hundred years old?
JULIA.--My eyes are weak, Captain Touchit.
TOUCHIT.--Weak with weeping for Tom Flight. You hypocrite! Show me your
eyes!
MISS P.--Nonsense!
TOUCHIT.--Show me your eyes, I say, or I'll tell about Tom Flight and
that he has been married at Madras these two years.
MISS P.--Oh, you horrid man! [takes glasses off.] There.
TOUCHIT.--Translucent orbs! beams of flashing light! lovely lashes
veiling celestial brightness! No, they haven't cried much for Tom
Flight, that faithless captain! nor for Lawrence O'Reilly, that killing
Editor. It is lucky you keep the glasses on them, or they would transfix
Horace Milliken, my friend the widower here. DO you always wear them
when you are alone with him?
MISS P.--I never AM alone with him. Bless me! If Lady Kicklebury thought
my eyes were--well, well--you know what I mean,--if she thought her
son-in-law looked at me, I should be turned out of doors the next day,
I am sure I should. And then, poor Mr. Milliken! he never looks at
ME--heaven help him! Why, he can't see me for her ladyship's nose and
awful caps and ribbons! He sits and looks at the portrait yonder, and
sighs so. He thinks that he is lost in grief for his wife at this very
moment.
TOUCHIT.--What a woman that was--eh, Julia--that departed angel! What a
temper she had before her departure!
MISS P.--But the wind was tempered to the lamb. If she was angry--the
lamb was so very lamblike, and meek, and fleecy.
TOUCHIT.--And what a desperate flirt the departed angel was! I knew
half a dozen fellows, before her marriage, whom she threw over, because
Milliken was so rich.
MISS P.--She was consistent at least, and did not change after marriage,
as some ladies do; but flirted, as you call it, just as much as before.
At Paris, young Mr. Verney, the attache, was never out of the house:
at Rome, Mr. Beard, the artist, was always drawing pictures of her:
at Naples, when poor Mr. M. went away to look after his affairs at St.
Petersburg, little Count Posilippo was for ever coming to learn English
and practise duets. She scarcely ever saw the poor children--[changing
her manner as Lady KICKLEBURY enters] Hush--my lady!
TOUCHIT.--You may well say, "poor children," deprived of such a woman!
Miss Prior, whom I knew in very early days--as your ladyship knows--was
speaking--was speaking of the loss our poor friend sustained.