Yardsley.  Great Scott!  What have I done?

Jennie.  But of course it ain’t for the likes of me to say no to—­

Yardsley (rising).  For Heaven’s sake, Jennie—­do be sensi—­Don’t—­ say—­Jennie, why—­ah—­(Aside.) Oh, confound it!  What the deuce shall I say?  What’s the matter with my tongue?  Where’s my vocabulary?  A word! a word! my kingdom for a word! (Aloud.) Now, Jen—­

Jennie (coyly).  I has been engaged to Mr. Hicks, the coach gentleman, sir, but—­

Yardsley.  Good! good!  I congratulate you, Jennie.  Hicks is a very fine fellow.  Drives like a—­like a driver, Jennie, a born driver.  I’ve seen him many a time sitting like a king on his box—­yes, indeed.  Noticed him often.  Admired him.  Gad, Jennie, I’ll see him myself and tell him; and what is more, Jennie, I’ll—­I’ll give Hicks a fine present.

Jennie.  Yes, sir; I has no doubt as how you’ll be doin’ the square thing by Hicks, for, as I was a-sayin’, I has been engaged like to him, an’ he has some rights; but I think as how, if I puts it to him right like, and tells him what a nice gentleman you are (a ring is heard at the front door), it’ll be all right, sir.  But there goes the bell, and I must run, Mr. Yardsley. (Ecstatically kissing her hand.) Bob!

Yardsley (with a convulsive gasp).  Bob?  Jennie!  You—­er—­you misun—­(Jennie, with a smile of joy and an ecstatic glance at Yardsley, dances from the room to attend the door.  Yardsley throws himself into a chair.) Well, I’ll be teetotally—­Awh!  It’s too dead easy proposing to somebody you don’t know you are proposing to.  What a kettle of fish this is, to be sure!  Oh, pshaw! that woman can’t be serious.  She must know I didn’t mean it for her.  But if she doesn’t, good Lord! what becomes of me? (Rises, and paces up and down the room nervously.  After a moment he pauses before the glass.) I ought to be considerably dishevelled by this.  I feel as if I’d been drawn through a knot-hole—­or—­or dropped into a stone-crusher—­ that’s it, a stone-crusher—­a ten million horse power stone-crusher.  Let’s see how you look, you poor idiot.

[As he is stroking his hair and rearranging his tie he talks in pantomime at himself in the glass.  In a moment Jennie ushers Mr. Jack Barlow into the room.

Jennie.  Miss Andrews will be down in a minute, sir.

[Barlow takes arm-chair and sits gazing ahead of him.  Neither he nor Yardsley perceives the other.  Jennie tiptoes to one side, and, tossing a kiss at Yardsley, retires.

Barlow.  Now for it.  I shall leave this house to-day the happiest or the most miserable man in creation, and I rather think the odds are in my favor.  Why shouldn’t they be?  Egad!  I can very well understand how a woman could admire me.  I admire myself, rather.  I confess candidly that I do not consider myself half bad, and Dorothy has always seemed to feel that way herself.  In fact, the other night in the Perkinses conservatory she seemed to be quite ready for a proposal.  I’d have done it then and there if it hadn’t been for that confounded Bob Yardsley—­