Belinda, your vulgar expressions pain me. There is no need to be violent. Your own little fortune is undoubtedly somewhat involved, but so long as I have a crust---- MRS. BEN DIXON. I don't want your crusts. I want to know what you've done with all my money. There was a tidy bit of it, and you've had the entire control of it--more fool me. What have you done with it? MR. BEN DIXON. I manipulated it, my dear, to the best of my poor ability. Unfortunately, Heaven has not---- MRS. BEN DIXON. Oh! drop that. I'm tired of your Heaven. It's enough to set anyone against the place always hearing of it in your company. Let's understand the thing plainly. Haven't I got a penny of my own? MR. BEN DIXON. Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that, my dear, but---- MRS. BEN DIXON. But not much more, I expect. Oh, you villain! _You_ old---- (_He has been standing in one of his customary stained-glass attitudes close to door. Mrs. Ben Dixon with her last sentence rises as if to come to him. In an instant he slips through door, and closes it behind him softly._) MRS. BEN DIXON. It serves me right. It serves me right. (_Enter Primrose from window_.) Oh, my dear child, don't you ever marry. It's only your money they want to get hold of. PRIMROSE DEANE. Oh, I'm _sure_ he doesn't. MRS. BEN DIXON. _He!_ Lord help the child, you haven't done it already, have you? PRIMROSE DEANE. (_Confused_.) Oh no--no--I--I meant---- MRS. BEN DIXON. Don't trust him. Don't trust any of 'em. Have it all settled on yourself, and keep your own eye on it. Oh, to think what a fool I've been! (_Nelly has entered, followed by Cherry._) NELLY MORRIS. What's the matter, aunt? You're worried about something? MRS. BEN DIXON. Worried! I'm not worried. I'm mad! NELLY MORRIS. What's wrong, aunt? MRS. BEN DIXON. What's wrong! Ask what's right! That's the shortest question to answer. Oh, my dear child, your uncle's a villain, and I'm a born idiot, and everything's going wrong for everybody, and I can't help anybody. (_Leans on Nelly's shoulder and begins to half cry._) NELLY MORRIS. What is it, auntie, dear? MRS. BEN DIXON. Don't ask me, my dear. Don't anybody ask me anything. I can't tell you. Oh that Belinda Greggs could ever develop into such a first prize fool! PRIMROSE DEANE. (_She has been sitting on arm of easy-chair, and has taken up the paper_) Oh, here's a portrait of Mr. Ben Dixon. MRS. BEN DIXON. (_Glances round and sees a paper in Primrose's hand_) What in? _The Young Man's Christian Herald_, I suppose, under the heading of "Shining Lights"? PRIMROSE DEANE. No--no, it's (_reading_) _The Illustrated Police News_. The what? MRS. BEN DIXON. NELLY MORRIS. Oh, impossible, Primrose, you must---- (_Takes the paper and suddenly becomes silent_) MRS. BEN DIXON. (_Snatches it from Nelly, looks at it, then crosses over to Cherry_) Cherry, what do you make of this? ADAM CHERRY.