MYRT. (_aside_). Very well acted, indeed! (_Aloud, and in a pretended tone of commiseration_). Broken-hearted? SIR F. When I say "broken-hearted," I don't wish you to infer that the centre of my organic functions is snapped in half like a stick of firewood--far from it, Myrtle. But I'm broken-hearted for all that! MYRT. Absurd! while you have Grace and me to console you! SIR F. Grace no longer. She has deserted me, and for young Vallance! (_falling into chair and burying his face in his hands_). _Here LADY F. appears at C., listening._ SIR F. (_peeping out at the corner of his handkerchief, and seeing her. Aside_). She's there! (_Aloud._) Yes, Myrtle, I'm a wretched, abandoned man! MYRT. You can't be serious? SIR F. It's too true! MYRT. What--what do you intend doing? SIR F. I did think of shooting the young man!--but it'll be a far greater punishment to let him live! Think what the poor, unhappy youth will have to suffer from Grace's "little bits of temper!" poor devil! I know what _I_ had to go through. (_LADY F. shakes her hand at SIR F._) MYRT. But surely you will try and prevent Grace's departure? SIR F. (_indifferently_). I think not!--better as it is. I'm getting used to the idea! I confess it was I who advised Vallance to make just a certain little amount of love to my wife in order to excite your jealousy and show you what energy the young man was capable of; but I must confess I was not at all prepared for the perfect torrent of impassioned eloquence with which he poured forth his _unhallowed_ flame! (_Here VALLANCE shakes both his fists at SIR F._) SIR F. Besides, Myrtle, _dear_ Myrtle, as you very sensibly observed just now, shall I not have _you_ to console me? (_with an exaggerated tender look_). MYRT. (_alarmed_). Me? SIR F. Why not? Your lover doesn't care a pin's point about you, or he wouldn't have agreed to my plan. My wife has about the same amount of affection for _me,_ or she'd have withered him up with her scorn at the first go-off. This sort of thing! (_putting on a haughty and scornful look_). MYRT. Well, what then? SIR F. Can you ask? Oh, my Myrtle! my beloved Myrtle--behold me at your feet! (_falling on both his knees and seizing her hand. Aside._) If Grace stands this, I'm a New Zealander! MYRT. Monster! (_flinging SIR FELIX from her, who falls on his face. LADY FRITTERLY and VALLANCE hurry down_). LADY F. So, Sir Felix Fritterly! ARTH. So, Sir Felix Fritterly! SIR F. (_getting up quietly and dusting his knees with his pocket-handkerchief. Then suddenly bursting out into a loud laugh_). Ha, ha, ha! Surely, my dear Grace, you didn't really think I was in earnest? LADY F. (_smiling_). As much in earnest, probably, as you thought me. (_SIR FELIX takes her hand and kisses it._) ARTH. (_joyously to LADY F._). Then you don't love me after all? You won't insist on my accompanying you to the Sandwich Islands?