Enter SUSAN, with housemaid’s broom.

Susan. What do you please to want, sir?

Nokes. You, Susan; you, first of all, and then a shirt-button.  I have not five minutes to spare.  My bride is probably already at the Embassy, expressing her impatience in various continental tongues. Vite,—­look sharp, Susan. [Aside.] Admirable woman!—­she carries buttons about with her.  I wonder whether the Montmorenci will do that.—­Take care!—­don’t run the needle into me!

Susan. You must not talk, sir, or else I can’t help it.  Please to hold your head up a little higher.

Nokes. I shall do that when I’ve married the Montmorenci. [She pricks him.] Oh! oh!

Susan. I’m sure I hope as you’ll be happy with her, sir; but you seem so fond of old England that I doubt whether you ought not to have chosen your wife from your native land.  It seems a pity to be marrying in such haste, just because your poor nephew—­pray don’t speak, sir, or I shall certainly run the needle into you—­just because Mr. Charles has gone and wedded the girl of his choice.

Nokes [passionately]. Hold your tongue, Susan! [She pricks him again.] Oh! oh!

Susan. There, sir, I told you what would happen.  All I say is, I hope you may not marry in haste to repent at leisure.  A fortnight is such a very short time to have known a lady before making her your bride.  There, sir; I think the button will keep on now.

Nokes. Then I’m off, Susan.  But, before I go, I must express my thanks to you for looking after me so attentively in this place.  Here’s a five-pound note for you. [Aside] I could almost find it in my heart to give her a kiss; but perhaps the Montmorenci wouldn’t like it.

Susan [gratefully]. Oh, thank you, sir.  May all happiness attend you, sir! and when you’re married yourself, sir, don’t be too hard upon that poor nephew of yours—­

Nokes [angrily]. Be quiet. [Exit hastily.]

Susan [alone]. Now, there’s as kind-hearted an old gentleman as ever lived,—­and as good a one, too, if it was not for pigheadedness and tantrums.  The idea of a five-pound note merely for helping him to get his victuals!  He’s been just like a baby in this ’ere ’otel, and I’ve been a mother to him.  He couldn’t ‘a’ got a drop o’ milk if it hadn’t been for me.  Poor dear old soul!  What a pity it is he should have such a temper!  He is taking a wife to-day solely to keep a hasty word uttered agen his nephew and heir.  Mademoiselle Constance de Montmorenci! ah, I’ve heard of her before to-day.  Nanette, the head-chambermaid here, was once her lady’s-maid. She’s known her for more than a fortnight.  Constance is a fine name, but it ain’t quite the same as Constancy.  Poor Mr. Nokes!  What a mistake it was in him to drive all thoughts of matrimony off to the last,