_James_. Then there's Mattie Winchfield?

_Tho._ Nay; it's noan o' her.

_James_. Then there's Mattie Pearson?

_Tho._ Yigh, that's hoo! That's hoo! Wheer? Wheer?

_James_. Well, it's too far for a man of your age to walk. But I'll call a cab, and we'll go comfortable.

_Tho._ But aw connot affoord to peigh for a cab--as yo co it.

_James_. You don't suppose I'm a goin' to put an honest man like you to expense!

_Tho._ It's but raysonable I should peigh. But thae knows best.

_James_. Hey! Cab there! _Exeunt_.

_Re-enter_ BILL, _following them_.

_Bill_. I'll have an eye of him, though. The swell as give me the yellow-boy--he's his master! Poor old codger! He'll believe any cove but the one as tells him the truth!

_Exit_.

_Enter from the house_ MRS. CLIFFORD. _Enter from opposite side_ COL. G.

_Col. G._ I was just coming to see you, Clara.

_Mrs. C._ And I was going to see you. How's Arthur to-day? I thought you would have come yesterday.

_Col. G._ My poor boy is as dependent on me as if I were _not_ his father. I am very anxious about him. The fever keeps returning.

_Mrs. C._ Fortune seems to have favoured your mad scheme, Walter.

_Col. G._ Or something better than fortune.

_Mrs. C._ You have had rare and ample opportunity. You may end the farce when you please, and in triumph.

_Col. G._ On the contrary, Clara, it would be nothing but an anticlimax to end what you are pleased to call _the farce_ now. As if I could make a merit of nursing my own boy! I did more for my black servant. I wish I had him here.

_Mrs. C._ You would like to double the watch--would you?

_Col. G._ Something has vexed you, Clara.

_Mrs. C._ I never liked the scheme, and I like it less every day.

_Col. G._ I have had no chance yet. He has been ill all the time. I wish you would come and see him a little oftener.

_Mrs. C._ He doesn't want me. You are everything now. Besides, I can't come alone.

_Col G._ Why not?

_Mrs. C._ Constance would fancy I did not want to take her.

_Col. G._ Then why not take her?

_Mrs. C._ I have my reasons.

_Col. G._ What are they?

_Mrs. C._ Never mind.

_Col. G._ I insist upon knowing them.

_Mrs. C._ It would break my heart, Walter, to quarrel with you, but I _will_ if you use such an expression.

_Col. G._ But why shouldn't you bring Miss Lacordere with you?

_Mrs. C._ He's but a boy, and it might put some nonsense in his head.

_Col. G._ She's a fine girl. You make a friend of her.

_Mrs. C._ She's a good girl, and a lady-like girl; but I don't want to meddle with the bulwarks of society. I hope to goodness they will last _my_ time.

_Col. G._ Clara, I begin to doubt whether pride _be_ a Christian virtue.

_Mrs. C._ I see! You'll be a radical before long. _Every_thing is going that way.

_Col. G._ I don't care what I am, so I do what's right. I'm sick of all that kind of thing. What I want is bare honesty. I believe I'm a tory as yet, but I should be a radical to-morrow if I thought justice lay on that side.--If a man falls in love with a woman, why shouldn't he marry her?

_Mrs. C._ She may be unfit for him.

_Col. G._ How should he fall in love with her, then? Men don't fall in love with birds.

_Mrs. C._ It's a risk--a great risk.

_Col. G._ None the greater that he pleases himself, and all the more worth taking. I wish my poor boy--

_Mrs. C._ Your poor boy might please himself and yet not succeed in pleasing you, brother!

_Col. G. (aside_). She _knows_ something.--I must go and see about his dinner. Good-bye, sister.

_Mrs. C._ Good-bye, then. You will have your own way!

_Col. G._ This once, Clara. _Exeunt severally_.

END OF ACT II.