And does Mrs. Dot--reciprocate your affection? BLENKINSOP. Really you ask me a very delicate question. GERALD. By the great Harry, the man thinks she’s in love with him. BLENKINSOP. [_Rather indignant._] And pray, why shouldn’t she be just as much in love with me as with you? GERALD. [_With a burst of laughter._] Ha, ha, ha. BLENKINSOP. What the blazes are you laughing at? GERALD. Ha! ha! ha! BLENKINSOP. Shut up, you blithering idiot! GERALD. [_Still laughing._] She _has_ made a fool of you. Ha! ha! ha! [_Seriously._] And did you really think any woman would care for you? My poor Blenkinsop! My poor, poor Blenkinsop! BLENKINSOP. You’re a jackanapes, sir, you’re an impudent jackanapes. And why not, pray? GERALD. [_Furiously._] Because you’re revolting to look upon, and your conversation is inexpressibly tedious. BLENKINSOP. It’s charming of you to say so. GERALD. If you want to marry any one, marry Lady Sellenger. BLENKINSOP. You are evidently under the impression that if a woman can’t be so fortunate as to marry you, she had far better retire into a nunnery. GERALD. You’re a cantankerous cynic and a fatuous donkey. BLENKINSOP. I like the delicacy with which you express your appreciation of my merits. GERALD. Listen to me, Blenkinsop! Clear out of the house before you make a greater mess of things than you have already. Mrs. Dot would as soon marry her groom as marry you. BLENKINSOP. You think it’s quite impossible that she should ever have dreamt of such a thing? GERALD. Not only impossible, but grotesque. [BLENKINSOP _goes to the drawer in which is the licence and takes it out_. BLENKINSOP. Perhaps, then, it would interest you to inspect this document. [GERALD _takes it and looks at it, dumfounded_. GERALD. It’s a special licence. BLENKINSOP. So much less bother than banns, you know. GERALD. James Blenkinsop. BLENKINSOP. And Frances Annandale Worthley. GERALD. It’s a mistake! It’s all a preposterous mistake. BLENKINSOP. You see, the Archbishop of Canterbury calls me his right well-beloved brother. Friendly, isn’t it? [GERALD _violently tears it in pieces and flings them on the ground_. BLENKINSOP _gives a sigh of relief_. GERALD _stalks out of the room into the garden_. BLENKINSOP _goes to the door and waves his hand at him_. MRS. DOT _comes in. She has discovered that_ BLENKINSOP _has been making a fool of her_. BLENKINSOP. He’s torn up your precious licence. MRS. DOT. [_Quickly._] Which one? BLENKINSOP. Ours, of course. Three guineas gone bang, my dear. MRS. DOT. [_Counting on her fingers._] I’m reckoning how many bottles of beer the British public will have to drink for us to buy another. BLENKINSOP. But your refusal of my hand will happily prevent you from going to that expense. Thereby considerably forwarding the cause of temperance. MRS. DOT. [_With an assumption of overwhelming gravity._]