MISS P.--We were in the depths of poverty. Our furniture and lodging-house under execution--from which Captain Touchit, when he came to know of our difficulties, nobly afterwards released us. My father was in prison, and wanted shillings for medicine, and I--I went and danced on the stage. MILLIKEN.--Well? MISS P.--And I kept the secret afterwards; knowing that I could never hope as governess to obtain a place after having been a stage-dancer. MILLIKEN.--Of course you couldn't,--it's out of the question; and may I ask, are you going to resume that delightful profession when you enter the married state with Mr. Howell? MISS P.--Poor John! it is not I who am going to--that is, it's Mary, the school-room maid. MILLIKEN.--Eternal blazes! Have you turned Mormon, John Howell, and are you going to marry the whole house? JOHN.--I made a hass of myself about Miss Prior. I couldn't help her being l--l--lovely. KICK.--Gad, he proposed to her in my presence. JOHN.--What I proposed to her, Cornet Clarence Kicklebury, was my heart and my honor, and my best, and my everything--and you--you wanted to take advantage of her secret, and you offered her indignities, and you laid a cowardly hand on her--a cowardly hand!--and I struck you, and I'd do it again. MILLIKEN.--What? Is this true? [Turning round very fiercely to K.] KICK.--Gad! Well--I only-- MILLIKEN.--You only what? You only insulted a lady under my roof--the friend and nurse of your dead sister--the guardian of my children. You only took advantage of a defenceless girl, and would have extorted your infernal pay out of her fear. You miserable sneak and coward! KICK.--Hallo! Come, come! I say I won't stand this sort of chaff. Dammy, I'll send a friend to you! MILLIKEN.--Go out of that window, sir. March! or I will tell my servant, John Howell, to kick you out, you wretched little scamp! Tell that big brute,--what's-his-name?--Lady Kicklebury's man, to pack this young man's portmanteau and bear's-grease pots; and if ever you enter these doors again, Clarence Kicklebury, by the heaven that made me!--by your sister who is dead!--I will cane your life out of your bones. Angel in heaven! Shade of my Arabella--to think that your brother in your house should be found to insult the guardian of your children! JOHN.--By jingo, you're a good-plucked one! I knew he was, Miss,--I told you he was. [Exit, shaking hands with his master, and with Miss P., and dancing for joy. Exit CLARENCE, scared, out of window.] JOHN [without].--Bulkeley! pack up the Capting's luggage! MILLIKEN.--How can I ask your pardon, Miss Prior? In my wife's name I ask it--in the name of that angel whose dying-bed you watched and soothed--of the innocent children whom you have faithfully tended since. MISS P.--Ah, sir! it is granted when you speak so to me. MILLIKEN.--Eh, eh--d--don't call me sir!