MRS. J. (_as she enters_) I’m sure I must have dropped it here. It’s a green reticule, with sixteen shillings and fourpence halfpenny in it, besides a pair of spectacles, two bunches of keys, a packet of envelopes, two buns, a silver thimble, six Queen’s heads, a bill of the play, and half a pint of nuts. BEADLE. All right, ma’am—I gave it to that gentleman. (_points to O’WALKER_) MRS. J. Ah! still here, Mr.—— O’WALKER. (_very quickly and interrupting her_) Yes—yes. (_aside to her_) Don’t mention my name—you see that portly individual there— (_pointing to BROWN, who is standing with his back towards them_) Insane! sad case!—in early life fell in love with the Baron’s fair daughter, you’ve heard of her—she deceived him and married Walker, the twopenny postman, you’ve heard of him—it turned his brain—quiet as a lamb till he hears “Walker”—then raving mad in a moment!—the chances are, he’d murder me on the spot, and you too—I don’t know why he should, but he would! MRS. J. Lud a mercy! (_looking again at BROWN_) Eh? can it be? no—yes it is— (_to O’WALKER_) that gentleman’s no more mad than you are—you’re mistaken in your man, and I’ll prove it. (_goes to BROWN and in a loud voice_) Walker! BROWN. (_jumping round with a savage yell_) Ah! MRS. J. (C.) Cousin Brown, don’t you know me? (_alarmed_) BROWN. (R.) Cousin Jellicoe, delighted to see you! (_advancing to her, seizing her hands and shaking them violently_) MRS. J. (_in a soothing tone_) Don’t agitate yourself, Barbican. I wouldn’t have touched upon such a delicate subject for the world—but I never heard a syllable about the “Baron’s fair daughter—or the twopenny postman” either till I was told of it just now by Mr.—— O’WALKER. (_interrupting her_) Exactly. (_aside to BROWN, who looks astonished_) Don’t notice what she says, poor soul—insane! sad case!—last Christmas went out without her bonnet—burning sun—snow on the ground—never recovered it! (_goes up_) BROWN. (_pathetically and looking at MRS. J._) Poor soul! MRS. J. And now, Cousin Brown, now that I’ve got you—(_suddenly taking his arm—BROWN rather alarmed_) we must talk over a certain little matter—in other words, my darling Fanny is only waiting for her dear godpapa’s consent to get married—isn’t she, Mr. O’Wal—— (_to O’WALKER_) O’WALKER. (_very quickly_) Yes—yes. (_aside_) This is getting intensely exciting! BROWN. Well, my consent shan’t be wanting, nor a wedding portion either, provided I approve of Fanny’s choice. What sort of a fellow is he—eh? MRS. J. Judge for yourself, Cousin Brown—for there he is. (_pointing to O’WALKER_) BROWN. Eh!—I’m delighted to hear it!— (_shaking O’WALKER’S hand_) but where’s my god-daughter?—Brown requires his god-daughter! MRS. J. There she is! (_to FANNY, who runs in L._) Fanny, embrace your godpapa—he consents to your marriage. FANNY. Oh, you dear, good, kind, handsome old man! (_embracing BROWN_) Why don’t you throw your arms round him too, John Horatio? BROWN. John Horatio—Walker?