_Miss T._ It is a lurid tale. Three months since I fled from a hated one, who was to have married me. He pursued me. I confided my distress to a young and wealthy stranger. Acting on his advice, I declared myself to be his wife; he declared himself to be my husband. We were parted immediately afterwards, and we have never met since. But this took place in Scotland; and by the law of that remarkable country we are man and wife, though I didn’t know it at the time. _Min._ What fun! _Miss T._ Fun! Say, rather, horror--distraction--chaos! I am rent with conflicting doubts! Perhaps he was already married; in that case, I am a bigamist. Maybe he is dead; in that case, I am a widow. Maybe he is alive; in that case, I am a wife. What am I? Am I single? Am I married? Am I a widow? Can I marry? Have I married? May I marry? Who am I? Where am I? What am I?--What is my name? What is my condition in life? If I am married, to whom am I married? If I am a widow, how came I to be a widow, and whose widow came I to be? Why am I his widow? What did he die of? Did he leave me anything? if anything, how much, and is it saddled with conditions?--Can I marry again without forfeiting it? Have I a mother-in-law? Have I a family of step-children, and if so, how many, and what are their ages, sexes, sizes, names and dispositions? These are questions that rack me night and day, and until they are settled, peace and I are not on terms! _Min._ Poor dear thing! _Miss T._ But enough of my selfish sorrows. (_Goes up to table and takes a tart. MINNIE is annoyed at this._) Tell me about the noble boy who is about to make you his. Has he any dross? _Min._ I don’t know. (_Secretly removes tarts to another table close to door._) I never thought of asking--I’m such a goose But papa knows. _Miss T._ Have those base and servile things called settlements been satisfactorily adjusted? (_Eating._) _Min._ I don’t know. It never occurred to me to inquire. But papa can tell you. _Miss T._ The same artless little soul! _Min._ (_standing so as to conceal tarts from BELINDA_). Yes, I am quite artless--quite, quite artless. But now that you _are_ here you will stay and see me married. _Miss T._ I would willingly be a witness to my darling’s joy, but this attire is, perhaps, scarcely in harmony with a scene of revelry. _Min._ Well, dear, you’re not a cheerful object, and that’s the truth. _Miss T._ And yet these charnel-house rags may serve to remind the thoughtless banquetters that they are but mortal. _Min._ I don’t think it will be necessary to do that, dear. Papa’s sherry will make _that_ quite clear to them. _Miss T._ Then I will hie me home, and array me in garments of less sombre hue. _Min._ I think it would be better, dear. Those are the very things for a funeral, but this is a wedding. _Miss T._ I see very little difference between them. But it shall be as you wish, though I have worn nothing but black since my miserable marriage. There is breakfast, I suppose?