SCENE II.

_Street--A porch projecting from flat; on the door is a plate inscribed, "Mrs. Stitchley, dress-maker."_

_Enter CUTAWAY, followed by HARRIET, L.H. 1 E._

CUT. This way, this way, charming Harriet; your aunt has not missed you yet; but she soon will; she is now so taken up with her ribbons and beautiful purchases, that she is thinking but little of her beautiful niece.

HAR. But this step--

CUT. Stands before your prison door--your only step is flight.

HAR. A flight of steps, each one more imprudent than the last. And what awaits me on my descent?

CUT. Love, who will be your guide?

HAR. A pretty guide--he is blind himself.

CUT. True, but there is no resisting him. Love is a _torrent_--and his blindness is a _cataract_. Come, come! the banns have been put up for the last month, at Croydon Church--the ring is in my waistcoat pocket--I've appointed a father to give you away.

HAR. Father? I haven't seen him.

CUT. Probably not, for though _a father_, he is not yet _apparent_. All is right;--away! fly! when they say love is blind, they only mean he closes his eyes to transgressions like ours.

(_Exeunt, R.H._)

_Enter BOLT and MIZZLE, smartly dressed, L.H._

BOLT. Well, here we are--out!

MIZ. Yes, out in our reckoning, may be.

BOLT. And don't I look well? A'n't I the thing? Nothing like the shop, eh? Nothing against me?--nothing _counter?_

MIZ. No, we have sunk the shop, with a vengeance! Hatchment, the undertaker, will be calling to know if master's dead.

BOLT. Well, but where shall we go?

MIZ. I'm afraid we've gone too far already.

BOLT. Zounds! man, don't keep watering my spirits in that way; and don't pull down the corners of your mouth, and make it look like a horseshoe on its legs. Laugh at our setting out, at least.

MIZ. Ha! ha! ha! I will, for I'm thinking there will be devilish little chance of laughing when we return. Eh--what's that? (_Looking off, R.H._)

BOLT. What are you staring at now?

MIZ. Don't you see something like an old man?

BOLT. Lord bless you, Bobby! it's the young women I always look at, not the old men.

MIZ. That old man may look at you, notwithstanding. Oh! he draws nearer.--Oh, the devil! it's the old gentleman--master, I mean.

BOLT. Eh, that's the hat;--his castor's an unlucky star;--those are his unmentionables. We'll turn down the next street.

MIZ. But this damned street has no turning for the next quarter of a mile! Confound it! you must be so fond of enjoying yourself.

BOLT. We'll run.

MIZ. And attract his attention: a tallish man and a short one.

BOLT. (_Knocking at door, F.L._) Then we'll call on Mrs. Stitchley. Yes, that's the name on the plate.

MIZ. We don't know her; who the deuce knows Mrs. Stitchley?

BOLT. No matter; he mustn't pass us. Egad, he's just here! (_Knocks again; door opens; they run in;--just as door is closing, COTTON runs across from R. to L._)