LORD INGRAM, DENT, _discovered_.
_Dow._ Come here, Blanche my love; remember the importance of the crisis which is evidently approaching; and don’t shake your hair too much out of curl.
_John._ A note for you, my lady.
[_Exit._
_Dow._ It is from Rochester, and marked private. The long-expected declaration, no doubt. Blanche, calm your agitation, dear, while we see what he proposes in the way of dowry.
_Lord Ing._ Something enormous, I trust, to gild the fellow’s atrocious vulgarity!
_Dow._ (_Reads._) Good Heavens!
_Dent._ No bad news, I hope?
_Lord Ing._ Surely nothing can have occurred to break off the match?
_Blan._ Nothing, oh, nothing!
_Dent._ But death!
_Lord Ing._ Or bankruptcy.
(_Dowager sinks into a chair._)
_Blan._ You seriously alarm me, ma; has any accident occurred?
_Dow._ Accident!—a frightful and unexpected one.
_Lord Ing._ What can it possibly be?
_Dent._ Is he sick?
_Lord Ing._ Hurt?
_Lady Blan._ Dead?
_Dow._ Worse.
_All._ What?—what?
_Dow._ He’s poor!
_Lord Ing._ Inconceivable calamity!
_Dow._ Here, Ingram, read this, and wonder at the fellow’s presumption. My own one—(_To Blanche_)—I know in this, the most trying scene of your existence, you will comfort yourself as befits an Ingram—take my flacon, darling, and be heroic. Go on, Theodore.
_Lord Ing._ (_Reads._) “I am ready to fulfil my contract, but honour, and a sincere desire for the happiness of her whom I love more than existence, prompt me to the avowal that the reputation of my wealth is far, very far, more than its reality; frankly, I am a poor man.” Disgusting wretch!
_Dent._ Terrible reprobate!
_Dow._ Impudent monster!
_Lady Blan._ Ugly creature!
_Lord Ing._ What’s this?—why, this is simply laughable. (_Reads._) “However, if love for myself and not for my possessions, animates your beautiful daughter, I shall await her coming in the Oratory; and my Chaplain shall join us in the silken fetters of wedlock.” (_All laugh._) Well, upon my soul! that is about the coollest piece of effrontery ever attempted within the annals of Jeremy Diddlerism.
_Dow._ Don’t weep for such an impostor, my precious——
_Blan._ It’s not for him, ma; I don’t care a pin for the creature itself; but this lovely house, those delicious grounds, ma, where I had absolutely planned all my alterations.
_Lord Ing._ And I had selected my suit of bachelor rooms, and actually named my favourite hunters; why, the fellow’s a huge swindler!
_Mary._ I’m sorry you’ve lost such a nice fortune, Blanche, dear.
_Dow._ Don’t be envious, child; come, darling, dry your sweet eyes—control your dear little feelings; your poor heart must suffer from this dreadful shock, I know, but it might have been worse; suppose this blow had come after the ceremony. We must leave, of course, as soon as possible.
_Lord Ing._ I vote we all go in a body to the fellow’s oratory first, and take an affectionate leave. Now, I insist, mother;—hang it, ain’t I the head of the house? Come, Dent, take Blanche; now, Dowager, dignity; prepare to frown the creature into oblivion.
[_Go up, closed in._