MRS. G. What's the demmed row here? Who is this person who has been exciting himself so enormously? BETSY. I'm sure I don't know, sir; but he seems to be a gent who has been putting himself in the way that gentlemen wish to be who love their wine. GREEN. (_aside_) I'll be calm, but infernally severe. He-hem! Sir, I beg your pardon, but--ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! it strikes me that you've been in my wife's room. (_points to room_). MRS. G. Your wife's?--ha, ha, ha! GREEN. I repeat, my wife's--that lady in there is my wife. MRS. G. } } Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! BETSY. } GREEN. Allow me, sir, to inform you, it's my deliberate opinion you're a scoundrel, a miscreant, and a vagabond. MRS. G. (_strutting fiercely to him_) Demme, sir!--aw--did you make use of the word "scoundrel?" GREEN. Scoundrel was the word, sir. MRS. G. And "miscreant," sir? GREEN. Miscreant, emphatically. MRS. G. And "vagabond," sir? GREEN. Vagabond, in its strongest sense, sir. MRS. G. And do you mean to apply these terms to me offensively? GREEN. Most offensively, sir. MRS. G. Oh, very well; that's enough. (_takes a card from her pocket, and gives it to GREENFINCH_) There's my card, sir. GREEN. And there's mine, sir. (_gives MRS. G. a card_) GREEN. { _both read_ } "Gregory Greenfinch--The { _cards at the_ } Turtle Dovery, Peckham Rye." MRS. G. { _same time_ } Oh! GREEN. Hey?--why, this is _my_ card--_my_ name and address. I'm Gregory Greenfinch, of the Turtle Dovery. MRS. G. Excuse me, my good fellow, but--ha, ha, ha, ha! your impudence is highly amusing--ha, ha, ha! GREEN. What! do you mean to tell me that I am not Greenfinch? That I'm not the husband of my own wife? MRS. G. Oh, no; I simply say, I'm Greenfinch. GREEN. You? Then who the devil am I? MRS. G. 'Pon my life, I haven't an idea. GREEN. No! Bless me, that's very extraordinary. Why, it can't be possible! I've a strong moral conviction that I am Greenfinch; I feel that I can't be anybody else, and that anybody else who presumes to be me is an impostor. MRS. G. For all that, _I'm_ Gregory Greenfinch. BETSY. The poor man's certainly mad, sir. GREEN. What does she say? Mad--ah! (_aside_) Horrible suggestion! If I should be mad! If I should be labouring under a pleasing delusion, and mistake myself for some other individual! What if he should be me, and me he--no, he me, and me he--no, that's not it--what, if I'm he--and me--I mean if I--that's me--no--he and I are neither he nor me. Oh, dear! what am I saying? MRS. G. Well, Mister What's-your-name, if you have any desire to be shot in a gentlemanly and artistic manner--there's a nice quiet spot at the back of the hotel, fit for the business. Just let me know when you've made up your mind, and I'll be ready in five minutes to operate. GREEN. Stop! destroyer of my peace, and confounder of my identity--stop, and hear me! Young woman retire. _Exit BETSY into room, L. 2 E., with one candle._