BROWN. Who is he? Tell me his odious name and place of abode, in order that I may instantly repair thither and sweep him off the surface of the earth. O’WALKER. I can’t tell you his odious name—but his letters _can_, and Amelia Jones has got half a bushel of ’em at least—so go to her at once—ask for a few pounds of her best havannahs—she’ll open a particular drawer—then you’ll see the letters. BROWN. How do you know? O’WALKER. Eh! Why—because the friend of my friend’s intimate friend told him so and he told me; so as I said before there you’ll see the letters—you’ll pounce down upon them, carry them off in triumph—join me here,—and then we’ll decide upon future operations. BROWN. That’s settled already—the friend of your friend’s intimate friend—dies—and now I’m off. (_starting towards L._) Stop—(_feeling his clothes_) dry as a bone—so come to my arms. (_embraces O’WALKER and runs off L._) O’WALKER. There he goes, what an advantage a man of his protuberant proportions has in a crowd to be sure! I shall count every minute till he comes back with the letters. What a state of nervous agitation I’m in to be sure. Goodness gracious! Dibbs! I quite forgot Dibbs. Ah, there’s an omnibus! here! conductor! stop! (_opening his umbrella and running towards L. and pushing against PATTY PECKOVER who enters with her parasol up and a pair of clogs in her hand_) PATTY. (R.) Well, I’m sure, sir,—eh? Yes. I do declare it’s O’Walker. (_laying hold of O’WALKER by the tail of his coat and pulling him back_) O’WALKER. (_L. without looking at her and endeavouring to make his way out_) I’ll speak to you presently, ma’am—here! conductor! stop! (_flourishing his umbrella_) Gone, of course—and this is your doing, ma’am? (_turning upon PATTY_) Eh—no—yes—it is—Patty Peckover, and more bewitching than ever. PATTY. O’Walker! but no familiarity if you please, I’m a married woman. O’WALKER. Married! PATTY. Yes! at least I’m as bad—I mean as good as married. O’WALKER. Oh—to one of your numerous cousins in the Life Guards I suppose? PATTY. That’s no affair of yours, sir,—when you behaved like a brute to me—yes, Mr. O’Walker, brute’s the word—you didn’t imagine I was going to remain in a state of single blessedness all my life. O’WALKER. And yet you swore you would. PATTY. And so I did—for a whole fortnight, and then out of spite I vowed I’d marry the first man that asked me—I shouldn’t have cared who, if he’d been a baron or even a duke I’d have had him! O’WALKER. And who is the happy man? What’s his name? PATTY. B. B. O’WALKER. B. B. PATTY. Yes—I shan’t tell you any more, except that he’s made his fortune in the soap line, and says I’m absolute perfection. O’WALKER. The soft soap line evidently. Patty, I congratulate you on your B. B., and you may as well congratulate me.—I’m going to be married. PATTY. You! You who vowed you could never love any woman but me! O’WALKER. No, more I did, _for a whole fortnight?_