MRS. S. Heyday! did you not say to me, just now, "Madam, as the representative of the law, I tell you that it matters not what his social position may be; we must not mince matters." (_imitating RATCLIFFE'S manner._) RAT. (_aside_) She's laughing at me, that's quite clear. (_aloud_) Of course not; but--but--(_drawing his chair closer to MRS. SOMERTON_)--but--(_aside_) Pon my life it requires more courage than I imagined. (_aloud_) I was about to observe that the circumstances attending this robbery are so--so whimsical. MRS. S. Whimsical? RAT. No, not whimsical, eccentric! that one is almost inclined to ascribe it to some other motive. MRS. S. (_aside_) We are coming to it by degrees; (_aloud_) and pray, sir, what other motive can your lively imagination suggest? RAT. (_drawing still nearer, and after a short hesitation, then in a low and impassioned tone_) Love! MRS. S. (_aside and smiling_) At last. (_aloud_) Love! ha, ha, ha! Love of bank notes! RAT. (_earnestly_) No. Love for you. Yes, madam, cannot you imagine an admiration so boundless--a passion so irresistible, that it might prompt a man? MRS. S. To rob me of £15,000, and frighten me out of senses into the bargain. RAT. (_still more earnestly_) Yes, madam, if by so doing, if by apparently reducing the woman to poverty, he hoped to obtain a voluntary resignation of her hand from a rival, who loves her for her fortune only. MRS. S. Really, Captain Ratcliffe, I must confess you have imagined a marvellous pleasant love story. RAT. Not more marvellous than true. Here are the proofs, (_gives pocket book to MRS. SOMERTON_) and now think, madam, what a love must that man's be who could thus risk his name, character, and reputation, with the sole hope of preserving you your liberty. MRS. S. But unfortunately the denouement of this romance of real life is wanting; the rival does not resign the lady's hand. RAT. (_aside, and looking towards room, R. 2 E._) Why the devil doesn't he make haste with the letters? (_POSTLETHWAITE looks in at the door_) MRS. S. (_catching a glimpse of him_) No, sir, I know my cousin too well--he loves me too dearly to care about my loss of fortune; _he_ will be only too happy to work for me, toil for me, slave for me. POS. (_at door_) Will he! (_disappears_) MRS. S. He will never resign the hand of her he loves, beggared though she be. (_here POSTLETHWAITE comes out of room cautiously, slips the letter into RATCLIFFE'S hand, and runs out at door, L. C._) RAT. (_presenting letter to MRS. SOMERTON_) From Mr. Percy Postlethwaite, madam. (_aside_) If he has deceived me I'll make Arabella Row, Pimlico, the scene of a terrific drama. MRS. S. (_reading letter_) "Ever beloved cousin, I need not say that the loss of your fortune is nothing to me----" (_to RATCLIFFE_) You hear? RAT. (_aside_) The devil take him!