disinherited. SIR ROD. I see. But I don't think you can do that. ROB. My good sir, if I can't disinherit my own unborn son, whose unborn son can I disinherit? SIR ROD. Humph! These arguments sound very well, but I can't help thinking that, if they were reduced to syllogistic form, they wouldn't hold water. Now quite understand us. We are foggy, but we don't permit our fogginess to be presumed upon. Unless you undertake to—well, suppose we say, carry off a lady? (Addressing Ghosts.) Those who are in favour of his carrying off a lady? (All hold up their hands except a Bishop.) Those of the contrary opinion? (Bishop holds up his hands.) Oh, you're never satisfied! Yes, unless you undertake to carry off a lady at once—I don't care what lady—any lady—choose your lady—you perish in inconceivable agonies. ROB. Carry off a lady? Certainly not, on any account. I've the greatest respect for ladies, and I wouldn't do anything of the kind for worlds! No, no. I'm not that kind of baronet, I assure you! If that's all you've got to say, you'd better go back to your frames. SIR ROD. Very good—then let the agonies commence. (Ghosts make passes. Robin begins to writhe in agony.) ROB. Oh! Oh! Don't do that! I can't stand it! SIR ROD. Painful, isn't it? It gets worse by degrees. ROB. Oh—Oh! Stop a bit! Stop it, will you? I want to speak. (Sir Roderic makes signs to Ghosts, who resume their attitudes.) SIR ROD. Better? ROB. Yes—better now! Whew! SIR ROD. Well, do you consent? ROB. But it's such an ungentlemanly thing to do! SIR ROD. As you please. (To Ghosts.) Carry on! ROB. Stop—I can't stand it! I agree! I promise! It shall be done! SIR ROD. To-day? ROB. To-day! SIR ROD. At once? ROB. At once! I retract! I apologize! I had no idea it was anything like that! CHORUS. He yields! He answers to our call! We do not ask for more. A sturdy fellow, after all, This latest Ruddigore! All perish in unheard-of woe Who dare our wills defy; We want your pardon, ere we go, For having agonized you so— So pardon us— So pardon us— So pardon us— Or die! ROB. I pardon you! I pardon you! ALL. He pardons us- Hurrah! (The Ghosts return to their frames.) CHORUS. Painted emblems of a race, All accurst in days of yore, Each to his accustomed place Steps unwillingly once more!