u.

_Lord B._ I see, and all the while your heart was given to a howling
cad?

_Verb._ And if it was, who can account for the vagaries of a girlish
fancy! We women are capricious beings, you know. (_With hysterical
gaiety._) But you are unjust to Mr. SPIKER--he has not _yet_ howled in
my presence--(aside)--though I very nearly did in _his_!

_Lord B._ And you really love him?

_Verb._ I--I love him. (_Aside._) My heart will break!

_Lord B._ Then I have no more to say. Farewell, VERBENA! Be as happy
as the knowledge that you have wrecked one of the brightest careers,
and soured one of the sweetest natures in the county, will permit.
(_Goes up stage, and returns._) A few days since you presented me with
a cloth pen-wiper, in the shape of a dog of unknown breed. If you
will kindly wait here for half-an-hour, I shall have much pleasure in
returning a memento which I have no longer the right to retain, and
there are several little things I gave you which I can take back
with me at the same time, if you will have them put up in readiness.
[_Exit._

_Verbena._ Oh, he is cruel, cruel! but I shall keep the little bone
yard-measure, and the diamond pig--they are all I have to remind me of
him! [_Enter_ SPIKER, _slightly intoxicated_.

_Spiker (throwing himself on sofa without seeing_ VERB.) I don' know
how it is, but I feel precioush shleepy, somehow. P'raps I did partake
lil' too freely of Sir POSHBURY'S gen'rous Burgundy. Wunner why they
call it "gen'rous"--it didn't give _me_ anything 'cept a bloomin'
headache! However, I punished it, and old POSHBURY had to look on and
let me. He-he! (_Examining his hand._) Who'd think, to look at thish
thumb, that there was a real live Baronet squirmin' under it. But
there ish! [_Snores._

_Verb. (bitterly)._ And _that_ thing is my affianced husband! Ah, no,
I cannot go through with it, he is _too_ repulsive! If I could
but find a way to free myself without compromising poor Papa. The
sofa-cushion! Dare I? It would be quite painless ... Surely the
removal of such an odious wretch cannot be _Murder_ ... I will! (_Slow
music. She gets a cushion, and presses it tightly over_ SPIKER'S
_head_.) Oh, I wish he wouldn't gurgle like that, and how he does
kick! he cannot even die like a gentleman! (SPIKER'S _kicks become
more and more feeble, and eventually cease_.) How still he lies! I
almost wish ... Mr. SPIKER, Mr. SPI-KER!... no answer--oh, I really
_have_ suffocated him! (_Enter