Nokes [aside]. I don’t wonder at that.

Susan. The people of the hotel here wanted an English chambermaid, and offered me the place, which, since my benefactor the clergyman was dead, I accepted thankfully.

Nokes. Poor girl! poor girl! [Pats Susan’s head.] There, there! your feelings do you the greatest credit; but don’t cry, because it makes your eyes red.  Now, look here, Susan; there’s only one thing more.  You are very soft-hearted, I perceive, and it must be distinctly understood between us that you need never intercede with me in favor of that scoundrel Charles.  I won’t have it.  You wouldn’t succeed, of course, but if I ever happen to get fond of you—­I mean foolishly fond of you, of course—­your importunity might be annoying.  When you are once my wife, however, and keeping your own carriage, I confidently expect that you will behave as other people do in that station of life, and show no weakness in favor of your poor relations.

Susan. I will endeavor, sir, in case you are so good as to marry a humble girl like me, to do my dooty and please you in every way.

Nokes. That’s well said, Susan. [Kisses her.] You have pleased me in a good many ways already. [Aside] I must say, though I didn’t like to dwell upon the idea before—­[Tremendous ringing of bells, and sudden appearance of the mistress of the hotel.  Tableau.]

Mistress of the hotel [to Nokes]. O vieux polisson! [To Susan] Coquine abominable!

Nokes [to Susan]. What is this lunatic raving about?

Susan. She remarks that I haven’t finished my work on the second floor.

Nokes [impatiently]. Tell her to go to—­the ground floor.  Tell her you are going to be married to me within the week, and order a wedding-breakfast—­for two—­immediately.

Susan [aside]. I can never tell her that, for she is a Frenchwoman, and wouldn’t believe it.  I’ll tell her something more melodramatic.  I’ll say that Mr. Nokes is my father, who has suddenly recognized and discovered his long-lost child.—­Madame, c’est mon pere longtemps absent, qui vous en prie d’accepter ses remerciments pour votre bonte a son enfant.

Mistress of the hotel [all smiles, and with both hands outstretched]. Milor, I do congratulate you.  Fortunate Susan!  You will nevare forget to recommend de hotel?

Nokes. Thank you, thank you; you’re a sensible old woman. [Aside] She evidently sees no absurd disproportion in our years.—­Breakfast, breakfast!—­dejeuner a la what-do-you-call-it! champagne! [Exit landlady, smiling and bowing.]

Nokes. In the mean time, Susan, put on your bonnet and let’s go out to—­whatever they call Doctors’ Commons here—­and order a special license. [Susan goes.] Stop a bit, Susan; you forget something. [Kisses her.] [Aside] I did not like to dwell upon the idea before, but she’s got a most uncommon pretty mouth.