Act 2 — SCENE II.

SCENE II.

A Room at LYNX’S.

Enter MRS. LYNX, R. H.

Mrs. Lynx. The time has almost arrived that will either relieve me from the dreadful suspense that I now endure, or plunge me still deeper into misery; since yesterday I have scarcely uttered a word in his presence; I have religiously adhered to the resolution that I would not touch upon a subject that has so filled me with conflicting emotions; but to-day, in an hour, I shall know the worst; and if he be the guilty one, that I am madly certain he is, his friends and the world shall know how I have been wronged, and for what purpose I have assembled them here.—(Produces a letter.)—Were it not for tokens like these, I should almost think that I had ceased to charm—had ceased to be looked upon even with interest, by the meanest of earth’s creatures; here is one that tells me he loves me; my husband once told me so, but then I was younger and had a free heart to give; that now, alas, is gone for ever; here is one who offers me wealth—splendour and affection—if I will forsake a husband that slights me—that torments and maddens me—what shall I do? I have now the means of revenge—of a full and bold revenge. Shall I use them but to awe my husband, or shall I listen, and so make him rue the day that he first roused my jealousy? But he may not be guilty—this girl may have no claim on him—beyond one of compassion or kindness. I may have suspected wrongly, and he may still have a lingering love for me, that may one day revive in all its early strength; and then were I to know him innocent—and myself the only guilty one, I should go mad—should die—should—oh, heaven help me.—(She falls exhausted by her feelings, in a chair; MR. and MRS. DOVE heard, L. H.)

Mrs. Dove. Now, my dear Henry, mind your behaviour.

Mrs. Ly. Ah! those people have arrived; my husband has neither seen them, nor heard of their having been here. I shall watch him well when they first meet.

Enter MR. and MRS. DOVE, L. H.

Mrs. Dove. Good day to you, Madam—I hope you find yourself in perfect health?

Dove. (Bowing.)—Good day, Madam, feel yourself pretty well?

Mrs. Dove. Henry, my dear, silence.

Mrs. Ly. I am obliged to you for being so faithful to your promise.

Mrs. Dove. ’Tis the height of ill-manners to disappoint one’s friends in an invite to dinner.

Dove. And very stupid too—to refuse wittles.

Mrs. Dove. Henry, my dear—

Dove. My darling, you never will let me talk.

Mrs. Dove. Not till you know how, my love.

Dove. But my dear, if you don’t let me practise, how am I ever to enquire the art?

Mrs. Dove. Acquire, verb active, to gain; inquire, verb neuter, to ask questions—acquire the art.

Dove. Acquire the hart!

Mrs. Dove. Don’t aspirate, love.

Dove. Oh, bother, dear.

Mrs. Ly. Let me beg of you not to allude to this young person till after dinner, I will then lead the conversation to that subject—and then I hope you will freely and truly state all that you may know respecting her.

Enter LYNX, R. H.

Lynx. Emmeline, I—(Seeing DOVE and his wife.)—What! the mystery is now clear—that woman has traced me—has told my wife, but my secret is safe.

Mrs. Dove. Ah, Mr. Lynx, how d’ye do?—surprised to see me here, no doubt?

Lynx. No, madam—no.

Mrs. Dove. ’Tis some time since we met.

Lynx. Almost a year, I think.

Dove. Eleven months! I ought to know, because we warn’t united when Mr. Lynx used to give me half a crown for——

Mrs. Dove. Henry—

Mrs. Ly. I was informed that you knew these good people?—(To LYNX.)

Lynx. Oh yes, my dear—they are my very old friends.

Mrs. Ly. Then I am happy in being the cause of renewing a friendship that seems so warm on either side; come, Mr. Dove, lead me to the dining-room—our friends have arrived, no doubt. Mr. Dove, will you favour me with your arm?

Dove. Eh!—(Looking confused at his wife.)—What am I to do?

Mrs. Dove. Give Mrs. Lynx your arm.

Mrs. Ly. Lionel, will you bring Mrs. Dove?

Lynx. (Offering his arm to MRS. DOVE.)—Certainly.

Dove. (Leading off MRS. LYNX, L. H.)—Well, I declare, this is genteel life.

Mrs. Dove. Thank you, Sir, you are very kind.—(LYNX leads off MRS. DOVE, L. H., CODDLE looks on R. H., quite pale.)

Cod. I have been running all over the house to look for Lynx,—I thought I heard his voice here—how I tremble! he must know that Mr. and Mrs. Dismal have seen that wretched woman—though they have promised secrecy, yet I cannot expect they will be always silent.—(Re-enter LYNX.)—Oh, my friend! I have been looking for you—they are all at dinner, but I can’t eat in the state of mind I am in. Mr. and Mrs. Dismal saw you talking to her.

Lynx. To whom?

Cod. The elderly lady in black.

Lynx. They did.

Cod. Don’t—don’t look so astonished, you frighten me.

Lynx. They surely will not talk of it?

Cod. They have promised to be secret, but what will be my feelings, in their presence!—when either of them speak, I shall die with apprehension.

Lynx. Leave it to me; we will see this woman to-morrow, and make some arrangement with her.

Cod. I’ll say any thing—do any thing—give any thing, only conceal the affair from my wife.

Lynx. Depend upon me—and be at peace. But be sure you do not equivocate in the question of this girl. The school-mistress with whom she lived is now here—at my very table. Remember! I, at your request, placed the girl under her care.

Cod. Yes.

Lynx. Because you did not dare confess to your wife that you had incurred such a responsibility,—but now you are anxious to acknowledge her.

Cod. What will Mary say?

Lynx. Remember, you have sworn it.

Cod. I have, but tell me—who is this girl?

Lynx. That is a mystery that I dare not disclose, even to you.

Cod. Bless me! what two reprobates we are.

Lynx. Come to the drawing-room, I must make some excuse for your leaving the table.—Now be bold.

Cod. Yes, yes.

Lynx. Do not equivocate.

Cod. No, no.

Lynx. On your moral courage depends your own safety, and my happiness.

Cod. I know it, I know it.

Lynx. And the least appearance of timidity may ruin us; now, are you ready?

Cod. Wait a moment.—(Buttoning his coat up to his throat with great resolution.)—When I expect to be excited, I like to be guarded against taking cold—against the effects of draughts and currents of air. My courage is rising—it’s up—now I’m ready—give me your arm—there, look at me! Did you ever see a finer illustration of desperate courage? Never.—Now to the field of action—to mortal strife—and death or victory.

Exit, dragging off LYNX, L. H.