_Sym._ And don’t spend £200. By-the-bye, I’m sorry that my little bird has not contrived to induce him to settle anything on her; that, I think, was remiss in my tom-tit. _Min._ Dear papa, Cheviot is the very soul of honour; he’s a fine, noble, manly, spirited fellow, but if he _has_ a fault, it is that he is very, oh very, _very_ stingy. He would rather lose his heart’s blood than part with a shilling unnecessarily. He’s a noble fellow, but he’s like that. _Sym._ Still I can’t help feeling that if my robin had worked him judiciously---- _Min._ Papa, dear, Cheviot is an all but perfect character, the very type of knightly chivalry; but he _has_ faults, and among other things he’s one of the worst tempered men I ever met in all my little life. Poor, simple, little Minnie, thought the matter over very carefully in her silly childish way, and she came to the conclusion, in her foolish little noddle, that, on the whole, perhaps she could work it better after marriage, than before. _Sym._ Well, well, perhaps my wren is right. (_Rises._) _Min._ Don’t laugh at my silly little thoughts, dear papa, when I say I’m sure she is. _Sym._ Minnie, my dear daughter, take a father’s advice, the last he will ever be entitled to give you. If you would be truly happy in the married state, be sure you have your own way in everything. Brook no contradictions. Never yield to outside pressure. Give in to no argument. Admit no appeal. However wrong you may be, maintain a firm, resolute, and determined front. These were your angel mother’s principles through life, and she was a happy woman indeed. I neglected those principles, and while she lived I was a miserable wretch. _Min._ Papa dear, I have thought over the matter very carefully in my little baby-noddle, and I have come to the conclusion--don’t laugh at me, dear papa--that it is my duty--my _duty_--to fall in with Cheviot’s views in everything _before_ marriage, and Cheviot’s duty to fall into my views in everything _after_ marriage. I think that is only fair, don’t you? _Sym._ Yes, I dare say it will come to that. _Min._ Don’t think me a very silly little goose when I say I’m sure it will. Quite, quite sure, dear papa. Quite. [_Exit MINNIE._ _Sym._ Dear child--dear child! I sometimes fancy I can see traces of her angel mother’s disposition in her. Yes, I think--I _think_ she will be happy. But, poor Cheviot! Oh, lor, poor Cheviot! Dear me, it won’t bear thinking of! _Enter MISS TREHERNE, unobserved. She is dressed in stately and funereal black._ _Miss T._ Come here, man-servant. Approach. I’m not going to bite you. Can I see the fair young thing they call Minnie Symperson? _Sym._ Well really, I can hardly say. There’s nothing wrong, I hope?