sure he's dead?

_Susan [with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes]._ Quite sure, sir.

_Nokes._ And your mamma,--your excellent mamma,--she's alive, at all
events?

_Susan._ No, sir; I am an orphan.

_Nokes [aside]._ How delightful! I love orphans. I'm an orphan myself.
Ah, but then she's sure to have brothers and sisters,--pipe-smoking,
gin-drinking brothers, and sisters who will have married idle mechanics,
with executions in their houses every quarter-day. Susan, my dear, how
many brothers and sisters have you?

_Susan [sorrowfully]._ I have none, sir. When my dear missis died I was
left quite alone in the world.

_Nokes._ I'm charmed to hear it [_embracing her_], adorable young woman!
[_Bell rings without._] What are they pulling that bell about for?
Confound them, it makes me nervous.

_Susan [meekly]._ I think they're wanting me, sir: you see, sir, I'm
neglecting my work.

_Nokes [kissing her]._ No, you're not, Susan [_kisses her again_]: quite
the contrary. So your name's Montem,--at present,--is it? How came that
about?

_Susan._ Well, sir, I was left a foundling in the parish workhouse, at
Salthill, near Eton. Nobody knew anything about me, and as I made my
appearance there one Montem day, the board of guardians named me Montem.

_Nokes._ And how came you to be chambermaid at this hotel?

_Susan [seriously]._ It was through good Mr. Woodward, the curate at
Salthill, that it happened, sir: he was my benefactor through life.
Always kind to me at the workhouse, where he was chaplain, he got me a
situation, as soon as I was old enough, with a lady. I lived with her
first as housemaid, and then as her personal attendant, till she died
under this roof.

_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 a