SCENE V. BISHOP. Are you ready? MR. B. Yes. BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, are you ready? MR. C. Yes. BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, I am waiting. BRUIN _and_ CAS [_together_]. So am I. MR. E. I am ready. But what have these men to do with our marriage? MR. B. Florence, I charge you with a breach of promise. You said you would be my bride. F. I did not. MR. C. You promised me. F. When? MR. C. A month ago. You said you would marry me. MR. B. A fortnight ago you promised me. You said we would be married to-day. MR. C. Bishop, what does this mean? Florence Evans promised to marry me, and this very day was fixed upon. And see how false she has been! She has, as you see, promised both of us, and now is going to wed this man. BISHOP. But Mr. Emerson and Miss Evans made the arrangements with me; how is it that neither of you said anything of it beforehand? MR. C. I forgot. MR. B. So did I. [F. _weeps._ _Enter_ ANNIE. A. I thought I should be too late to be your bridesmaid, but I find I am in time. But I thought you were to be married at half-past four, and it is five by the church clock. MR. E. We should have been married by this time, but these men say that Florence has promised to marry them. Is it true, Florence? F. No. [BESSY, _her younger sister, supports her._ A. It isn’t true, for you know, Edward Bruin, that you and I are engaged; and Mr. Cas and Bessy have been for some time. And both engagements have been out for more than a week. [BESSY _looks reproachfully at_ CAS. B. Why, Joseph Cas! BISHOP. Come, Mr. Emerson! I see that Mr. Cas and Mr. Bruin have been trying to worry your bride. But their story can’t be true, for these other young ladies say that they are engaged to them. F. They each of them made me an offer, which I refused. [_The_ BISHOP _marries them_. F. [_After they are married._] I shall never again be troubled with such offers [_looks at_ CAS _and_ BRUIN] as _yours_! I meant to give one scene, and I have given the whole play, not knowing where to stop. There was nothing funny about it to Julia. The heroine, with her wonderful command of silence, was her ideal of maiden reserve and dignity; the deep-dyed villany of Bruin and Cas, the retiring manners of the fortunate Emerson, the singular sprightliness of the Bishop, were all perfectly natural, as her vivid mind saw them. So she was bitterly grieved one day when a dear friend of the family, to whom our mother had read the play, rushed up to her, and seizing her hand, cried,-- “‘Julia, will you have me?’ ‘No!’ Exit Mr. Bruin.” Deeply grieved the little maiden was; and it cannot have been very long after that time that she gave the little book to her dearest aunt, who has kept it carefully through all these years.