SIR W. Exactly! I used to watch her every action as I reclined on my
sofa. She was rude and odd, but there was a heartiness in her nature
and a comeliness in her person that pleased me, that really fascinated
me, till at last I began rather to love her.
BLEN. You love an uneducated country wench?
SIR W. It was silly, wasn't it? but we are not our own masters in such
matters. However, don't laugh at me yet. I anticipated the pleasure of
rightly directing her mind, of the happiness in possessing a subject
on which to practise my favorite theory--in short, I pictured a whole
life of felicity in educating the object of my affection.
BLEN. For which purpose you married her.
SIR W. I did, to the great disgust of my connexions; indeed, my uncle,
Lord Plato, has never visited me since my union--has never written, or
noticed me in any way.
BLEN. But you found happiness in combining the character of husband
and tutor?
SIR W. I surrounded her with masters--an English master, a French
master, a music master, a dancing master, a singing master, a
philosophical lecturer, and a political economist.
BLEN. And what has been her progress?
SIR W. Her progress has been entirely stationary. I can do nothing
with her--she seems to rejoice in her ignorance--and, though I
sometimes think she has a capacity for learning, my hopes have been so
often disappointed that I now give her up. She's a female Orson, Sir,
though I confess I was once her Valentine.
_MARGERY, laughs without._
--There she is.
BLEN. Very merry, at any rate.
SIR W. Oh, she's merry enough, and good-humoured enough; but, my dear
Sir, with _my_ prejudices, with _my_ ideas of refinement, with _my_
delicacy as regards conduct in society, conceive my agony in
possessing a wife who is as wild as an unbroken colt, finds a nickname
for everybody, and persists in being called by her Christian name
of--of----
BLEN. What?
SIR W. I'm ashamed to tell you--Margery.
BLEN. Margery?
SIR W. I have tried to persuade her to change it to Matilda, or
Magaretta, or Marguerite, but all in vain--she says her mother's name
was Margery, her grandmother's name was Margery, that her name is
Margery, and Margery she'll be to the end of the chapter.
MARGERY. (_without_) Now, come along, Jack! and you, Tom, mind how you
carry my kitten.
_Enter MARGERY from the back, in a fashionably-made dress, but which
she wears awkwardly--She is followed by TWO SERVANTS_.
MAR. Now, Jack, mind what I say--how many pigs is there in the last
litter? Oh, I know--eight! Well, you may send one to my cousin
Joe--I'll tell you where he lives by and by--two to my old dad, and
one to Betsy Buncle, my old playfellow in Lancashire--the three black
ones I shall want to have in the parlor to play with.
SIR W. Pigs in the parlor to play with? Lady Evergreen, do you not
perceive a visitor?
MAR. Wait a minute--I'll speak to him presently. Do as I bid you; and
you, Tom, give my kitten her lunch, and turn all the young terriers
loose on the grass plot, because I like to see 'em tumble over one
another--and now go.
_Exit SERVANTS at back._
--Well, Sir, and how d'ye do, Sir? and (_to BLENHEIM_) how are you,
and who are you?
SIR W. My dear, my dear, _do_ think of your station! This is an old
friend of mine--we were at college together. Captain Blenheim--Lady
Evergreen.
MAR. (_dropping a country curtsey_) Hope you're well, Sir--fine
weather for the hay, and nothing can look better as yet than the
taters.
SIR W. Hush, hush! don't talk, my dear.
MAR. Then what did you bring him here for?
BLEN. I am delighted in being introduced to the wife of my old friend.
MAR. Well, I ain't sorry to see you, if it comes to that, if only for
a bit of a change, for my Billy here seldom lets anybody come
a-visiting, and when I ask him why he don't have a few friends now and
then to kick up a bit of a bobbery----
SIR W. My dear!
MAR. I will talk! He says I'm too rough to mix up with his sort, and
that he can't bring 'em here or take me amongst them till I'm polished
up; but I'm afraid I shall take so much polishing that I shall be worn
out before I'm as bright as he wants me to be.
BLEN. I trust not, Madam.