Act 4 — SCENE I.—The Drawing-room at Rochester’s. DOWAGER, LADY BLANCHE, MARY, LORD INGRAM, DENT, discovered.
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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.
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