_Verbena._ Oh, he is cruel, cruel! but I shall keep the little bone yard-measure, and the diamond pig--they are all I have to remind me of him! [_Enter_ SPIKER, _slightly intoxicated_. _Spiker (throwing himself on sofa without seeing_ VERB.) I don' know how it is, but I feel precioush shleepy, somehow. P'raps I did partake lil' too freely of Sir POSHBURY'S gen'rous Burgundy. Wunner why they call it "gen'rous"--it didn't give _me_ anything 'cept a bloomin' headache! However, I punished it, and old POSHBURY had to look on and let me. He-he! (_Examining his hand._) Who'd think, to look at thish thumb, that there was a real live Baronet squirmin' under it. But there ish! [_Snores._ _Verb. (bitterly)._ And _that_ thing is my affianced husband! Ah, no, I cannot go through with it, he is _too_ repulsive! If I could but find a way to free myself without compromising poor Papa. The sofa-cushion! Dare I? It would be quite painless ... Surely the removal of such an odious wretch cannot be _Murder_ ... I will! (_Slow music. She gets a cushion, and presses it tightly over_ SPIKER'S _head_.) Oh, I wish he wouldn't gurgle like that, and how he does kick! he cannot even die like a gentleman! (SPIKER'S _kicks become more and more feeble, and eventually cease_.) How still he lies! I almost wish ... Mr. SPIKER, Mr. SPI-KER!... no answer--oh, I really _have_ suffocated him! (_Enter_ Sir POSH.) You, Papa? _Sir Posh._ What, VERBENA, sitting with, hem--SAMUEL in the gloaming? (_Sings, with forced hilarity._) "In the gloaming, oh, my darling!" that's as it should be--quite as it should be! _Verb. (in dull strained accents)._ Don't sing, Papa, I cannot bear it--just yet. I have just suffocated Mr. SPIKER with a sofa-cushion. See! [_Shows the body._ _Sir Posh._ Then I am safe--he will tell no tales now! But, my child, are you aware of the very serious nature of your act? An act of which, as a Justice of the Peace, I am bound to take some official cognizance! _Verb._ Do not scold me, Papa. Was it not done for _your_ sake? _Sir P._ I cannot accept such an excuse as that. I fear your motives were less disinterested than you would have me believe. And now, VERBENA, what will _you_ do? As your father, I would gladly screen you--but, as a Magistrate, I cannot promise to be more than passive. _Verb._ Listen, Papa. I have thought of a plan--why should I not wheel this sofa to the head of the front-door steps, and tip it over? They will only think he fell down when intoxicated--for he _had_ taken far too much wine, Papa! _Sir P._ Always the same quick-witted little fairy! Go, my child, but be careful that none of the servants see you. (VERB. _wheels the sofa and_ SPIKER'S _body out_, L.U.E.) My poor impulsive darling, I do hope she will not be seen--servants do make such mischief! But there's an end of SPIKER, at any rate. I should _not_ have liked him for a son-in-law, and with him, goes the only person who knows my unhappy secret! _Enter_ BLETHERS.