MARY. (_Entering with the white waistcoat worn by Widgetts at first, and a note in her hand._) Well, you're a pretty careless fellow, to leave your letters in your waistcoat pocket. Where is he gone to? (_Examines the note curiously. Reads._) "Whittington Widgetts, Esq." It's a woman's hand. I've a good mind to read it. I've no secrets from him and he has none from me--or, at least he oughtn't to--so it can be no harm. (_Opens note and reads hastily._) "Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce"--Ah!--"compliments--happy to sup with Mr. W. W. this evening--female notions--single gent--lobsters is stronger than prudence--therefore trusts to indulgence, at nine o'clock precise." Oh, the minx! (_Reads._) "P.S.--I'll come in my blue visite and my native innocence." Oh, Widgetts, the false deceitful wretch, to deceive me and wash out all his promises; to wring my heart and mangle my affections like that. (_Sobbing._) But I--I--don't care not a pin's point; no, I despise him and hate him worse than poison, and I'll--I'll--I'll--tell him so. (_Sobbing._) I'll--I'll---- _Enter JACOB BROWN, L. door._ BROWN. (_Angrily._) Where's Widgetts! I want to see Widgetts. MARY. Then you want to see a good-for-nothing fellow. BROWN. Exactly, and I shouldn't mind adding that I consider him an numbug. MARY. A wretch! BROWN. Most decidedly. MARY. A puppy! BROWN. Not a doubt of it. You see we're unanimous in our verdict. That man, ma'am, has been a _reptile_ in my path, a _wiper_ to all _my_ hopes, and an _adder_ to all my woes; he has lacerated my heart and singed the tender buds of young affection here. (_Lays his hands on his bosom._) MARY. Ah! What has he done? BROWN. He has _done me_, ma'am--_me_, Brown; that's what he's done. Cut me out with Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce. MARY. Cheri Bounce! Ah! (_Aside._) She that's to sup to-night with Widgetts. BROWN. I'm an 'airdresser, ma'am, my name's Brown, and I've a professional engagement at the Opera House, where I cultivate romance and ringlets amongst the ladies of the ballet. There I first beheld the lovely Cheri Bounce, the very image of the wax Wenus in my shop window. I loved her, not for her foreign grace, but for her native hair. Oh, she had such a head of real hair; and, oh, the showers of tears and the bottles of Macassar oil that I've poured upon it nobody would believe! Well, I toasted her for two years regularly, and at length she consented to become _Brown_. Well, we were to have been married, I had bought my wedding suit, when this fellow Widgetts, came to take the curl out of my happiness. We quarrelled about him last Saturday, and grew so warm that we've been cool ever since. But that's not all. This very day, I heard that she had accepted an invitation to sup with him to-night; but I'll prevent _that;_ he shall fight me--one of us must fall--let him choose his own weapons--curling irons if he likes.