Col. Starbottle (aside). The--er--tableau, although striking in moral force, is apparently--er--deficient in moral stamina. Miss Mary (angrily to the DUCHESS). I'm ashamed of you! (To OAKHURST, advancing.) I don't ask pardon for my intrusion. If you are Alexander Morton, you are my kinsman, and you will know that I cannot introduce myself better than as the protector of an injured woman. Come here! (To the DUCHESS, dragging her towards OAKHURST. To OAKHURST.) Look upon this woman: she claims to be-- Starbottle (stepping between MISS MARY and the DUCHESS). A moment, Miss Mary, a single moment! Permit me to--er--explain. The whole thing, the--er--situation reminds me, demn me, of most amusing incident at Sacramento in '52. Large party at Hank Suedecois: know Hank? Confirmed old bach of sixty. Dinner for forty. Everything in style, first families, Ged,--Judge Beeswinger, Mat Boompointer, and Maje Blodgett of Ahlabam: know old Maje Blodgett? Well, Maje was there. Ged, sir, delay,--everybody waiting. I went to Hank. "Hank," I says, "what's matter? why delay?"--"Star," he says,--always called me Star,--"Star,--it's cook!"--"Demn cook," I says: "discharge cook,--only a black mulatto anyway!"--"Can't, Star," he says: "impossible!"--"Can't?" says I.--"No," says he. "Listen, Star," he says, "family secret! Honor! Can't discharge cook, because cook--demn it--'s MY wife!" Fact, sir, fact--showed marriage certificate--married privately seven years! Fact, sir-- The Duchess (to MISS MARY). Some other time, miss, let us go now. There's a mistake, miss, I can't explain. Some other time, miss! See, miss, how cold and stern he looks! another time, miss! (Struggling.) For God's sake, miss, let me go! Miss Mary. No! This mystery must be cleared up now, before I enter HIS house,--before I accept the charge of this-- Starbottle (interrupting, and crossing before MISS MARY). A moment--a single moment, miss. (To OAKHURST.) Mr. Morton, you will pardon the exuberance, and perhaps, under the circumstances, somewhat natural impulsiveness, of the--er--sex, for which I am perhaps responsible; I may say--er--personally, sir,--personally responsible-- Oakhurst (coldly). Go on, sir. Starbottle. The lady on my right is--er--the niece of your father,--your cousin. The lady on my left, engaged in soothing the--er--bashful timidity of infancy, is--er--that is--er--claims to be, the mother of the child of Alexander Morton. Oakhurst (calmly). She is right. Miss Mary (rushing forward). Then you are-- Oakhurst (gently restraining her). You have another question to ask: you hesitate: let me ask it. (Crossing to the DUCHESS.) You have heard my answer. Madam, are you the legal wife of Alexander Morton? The Duchess (sinking upon her knees, and dropping her face in her hands). No!