_Dennis._ Very little this last week, your honour. _Shuff._ O, the landlord. Leave the room. _Dennis._ [_Aside._] Manners! but he's my customer. If he don't behave himself to the young cratur, I'll bounce in, and thump him blue. [_Exit._ _Shuff._ [_Looking at MARY._] Shy, but stylish--much elegance, and no brass: the most extraordinary article that ever belonged to a brazier.--[_Addressing her._] Don't be alarmed, my dear. Perhaps you didn't expect a stranger? _Mary._ No, sir. _Shuff._ But you expected somebody, I believe, didn't you? _Mary._ Yes, sir. _Shuff._ I come from him: here are my credentials. Read that, my dear little girl, and you'll see how far I am authorized. [_Gives her a Letter._ _Mary._ 'Tis his hand. [_Kissing the Superscription._ _Shuff._ [_As she is opening the Letter._] Fine blue eyes, faith, and very like my Fanny's. Yes, I see how it will end;--she'll be the fifteenth Mrs. Shuffleton. _Mary._ [Reading.] _When the conflicts of my mind have subsided, and opportunity will permit, I will write to you fully. My friend is instructed from me to make every arrangement for your welfare. With heartfelt grief I add, family circumstances have torn me from you for ever!----_ [_Drops the Letter, and is falling, SHUFFLETON supports her._ _Shuff._ Ha! damn it, this looks like earnest! They do it very differently in London. _Mary._ [_Recovering._] I beg pardon, sir--I expected this; but I----I---- [_Bursts into Tears._ _Shuff._ [_Aside._] O, come, we are getting into the old train; after the shower, it will clear.--My dear girl, don't flurry yourself;--these are things of course, you know. To be sure, you must feel a little resentment at first, but---- _Mary._ Resentment! When I am never, never to see him again! Morning and night, my voice will be raised to Heaven, in anguish, for his prosperity!--And tell him,--pray, sir, tell him, I think the many, many bitter tears I shall shed, will atone for my faults; then you know, as it isn't himself, but his station, that sunders us, if news should reach him that I have died, it can't bring any trouble to his conscience. _Shuff._ Mr. Rochdale, my love, you'll find will be very handsome. _Mary._ I always found him so, sir. _Shuff._ He has sent you a hundred pound bank note [_Giving it to her._] till matters can be arranged, just to set you a-going. _Mary._ I was going, sir, out of this country, for ever. Sure he couldn't think it necessary to send me this, for fear I should trouble him! _Shuff._ Pshaw! my love, you mistake: the intention is to give you a settlement. _Mary._ I intended to get one for myself, sir. _Shuff._ Did you?