_Charles._ Give me but your hand. _Helen._ That is now at my own disposal--I beseech you go--(_Charles just gains the door when enter sir Willoughby with a letter in his hand, and Lady Worret._) _Sir W._ Gadzooks! Here's a discovery! _Helen._ A discovery, sir? (_Helen looks at the door_) _Sir W._ Ay, a discovery indeed!--Ods life! I'm in a furious passion! _Helen._ Dear sir, not with me I hope-- _Lady W._ Let me entreat you sir Willoughby to compose yourself; recollect that anger is very apt to bring on the gout. _Sir W._ Damn the gout, I must be in a passion--my--life--harkye, daughter-- _Helen._ They know he's here! so I may as well own it at once. _Lady W._ Pray compose yourself, remember we have no _proof_. _Sir W._ Why that's true--that is remarkably true--I must compose myself--I _will_--I _do_--I _am_ composed--and now let me open the affair with coolness and deliberation! Daughter, come hither. _Helen._ Yes, sir--now for it!-- _Sir W._ Daughter, you are in general, a very good, dutiful, and obedient child-- _Helen._ I know it, papa--and was from a child, and I always will be. _Lady W._ Allow me, sir Willoughby--you are in general, child, a very headstrong, disobedient, and undutiful daughter. _Helen._ I know it, mamma--and was from a child, and always will be. _Lady W._ How, madam!--Remember, sir Willoughby--there is a proper medium between too violent a severity, and too gentle a lenity. _Sir W._ Zounds, madam, in your own curs'd economy there is no medium--but don't bawl so, or we shall be overheard. _Lady W._ Sir Willoughby, you are very ill I'm sure; but I must now attend to this business, daughter, we have heard that Charles-- _Sir W._ Lady Worret, my love, let _me_ speak--you know, child, it is the duty of an _obedient_ daughter, to _obey_ her parents. _Helen._ I know it, papa, and when I _obey you_, I am _generally obedient_. _Lady W._ In short, child, I say again, we learn that Charles---- _Sir W._ Lady Worret, lady Worret, you are too abrupt, od-rabbit it, madam, I will be heard: this affair concerns the _honor_ of my family, and on this one occasion, I will be my own spokesman. _Lady W._ Oh heavens! Your violence affects my brain. _Sir W._ Does it? I wish it would affect your tongue, with all my heart: bless my soul, what have I said! Lady Worret! lady Worret! you drive me out of my senses, and then wonder that I act like a madman. _Lady W._ Barbarous man, your cruelty will break my heart, and I shall leave you, sir Willoughby, to deplore my loss, in unavailing despair, and everlasting anguish. [_Exit._ _Sir W._ (_aside_) I am afraid not: such despair and anguish will never be my--happy--lot!--bless me, how quiet the room is--what can be--oh, my wife's gone! now then we may proceed to business--and so daughter, this young fellow, Charles, has dared to return, in direct disobedience to his father's commands.