_Tho._ (_retiring behind the Psyche_). Aw're noan likely to goo, maister. _Enter_ MRS. C. _Crosses to room door. Enter_ WATERFIELD. _They talk_. _Ger._ William! I don't want them. (_Retreats towards the Psyche_.) _Col. G._ Sit here one moment, sir. (_Leads him to the dais. Advances to_ MRS. C.) _Mrs. C._ (_trying to pass him_). Arthur, what can--? _Col. G._ (_intercepting her_). Let him rest a bit, ma'am, if you please. He's been out for the first time. _Mrs. C._ At night! and in a fog! A pretty nurse you are! Poor boy! _Col. G._ Mr. Waterfield, sir, would you mind stepping into the room again for a moment? (_Exit_ WAT.) Mrs. Clifford, ma'am, would you please get a glass of wine for master? _Exit_ MRS. C. _into the house_. _Ger._ William! William! _Col. G._ Yes, sir. _Ger._ Send him away. Don't let him stop there. I have nothing to say to him. _Col. G._ He shan't trouble you, sir. I'll take care of that. (_Goes behind the Psyche to_ THOMAS, _but keeps watching the door of the room_.)--Did you see the man that went in there just now? _Tho._ (_with anxiety_). He winnot joomp eawt ov th' window, dosto thenk, lad? _Re-enter_ MRS. C. _with wine_. GER. _drinks_. _Col. G._ Why should he do that? Do you know anything about him? _Tho._ Aw do. _Col. G._ Has he seen you here? _Tho._ No. Aw're afeard he'd roon away, and aw keepet snoog. _Col. G._ I needn't ask who it is, then? _Tho._ Yo needn't, lad. _Enter_ WATERFIELD. _Tho._ Mo conscience! he'll pike eawt afoor aw geet howd on him! (_Rushes out and seizes_ WAT.) _Enter_ MATTIE _and_ BILL. _Tho._ Thae'rt a domned villain! Wheer's mo Mattie? WATERFIELD _knocks_ THOMAS _down_. _Bill._ O Lord! the swell's murdered old daddy! _All but_ GER. _rush together_. COLONEL GERVAISE _seizes_ WATERFIELD. MATTIE _throws herself on her knees beside_ THOMAS _and lifts his head_. _Mat_. Father! father! Look at me! It's Mattie!--your own wicked Mattie! Look at her once, father dear! (_Lays down his head in despair, and rises_.) Who struck the good old man? _Bill._ He did--the swell as give me the gold sov. _Mat_. Mr. Watkins!-- _Wat_. I haven't the honour of the gentleman's acquaintance. I'm not Mr. Watkins. Am I now? (_to_ COL. G.). Ha! ha!--Let go, I say. I'm not the man. It's all a mistake, you see. _Col. G._ In good time. I might make a worse. Watkins mayn't be your name, but Watkins is your nature. _Wat_. Damn your insolence! Let me go, I tell you! (_Struggles threatening_.) _Col. G._ Gently, gently, young man!--If I give your neckcloth a twist now--! _Mat_. Yes, there _is_ a mistake--and a sad one for me! A wretch that would strike an old man! Indeed you are not what I took you for.