ing!

John, Indeed she has, and she be too young and pretty to be used in
that manner. Ah! that comes of marrying an old man for his money; she be
uncommon pretty, to be sure; I only knows one prettier face in the whole
village.

Susan (with an air of forced unconcern). Aye, John, and whose may that
be, pray? Mary Bennett, perhaps, or Lucy Jones?

John. No, it ain't either of them.

Susan. Who is it then?

John. Well, if thee must needs know, the party's name is Susan.

Susan (still with an air of unconsciousness). Let me see, where is
there a Susan? let me think a minute. Oh! ~345~~ one of Darling the
blacksmith's girls, I dare say; it's Susan Darling!

John (rubbing his nose, and looking cunning). Well, 'tis Susan, darling,
certainly; yes, thee be'st about right there--Susan, darling.

Susan (pouting). So you're in love with that girl, are you, Mr. John? A
foolish, flirting thing, that cares for nothing but dancing and finery;
a nice wife for a poor man she'll make, indeed--charming!

John. Now, don't thee go and fluster thyself about nothing, it ain't
that girl as I'm in love with; I was only a-making fun of thee.

[Illustration: page345 A Charade Not All Acting]

Susan (crossly). There, I wish you wouldn't keep teasing of me so; I
don't care anything about it--I dare say I've never seen her.

John. Oh! if that's all, I'll very soon show her to thee--come along.
(Takes her hand, and leads her up to the looking-glass.) There's the
Susan I'm in love with, and hope to marry some day. Hasn't she got a
pretty face? and isn't she a darling? (Susan looks at him for a minute,
and then bursts into tears; bell rings violently, and a gruff voice
calls impatiently, Susan! Susan!)

Susan. Coming, sir, coming. (Wipes her eyes with her apron.)

John. Let the old curmudgeon wait! (Voice behind the scenes, John!--John
Ostler, I say!) Coming, sir; yes, sir. Sir, indeed--an old brute; but
now, Susan, what do'st thee say? wilt thee have me for a husband? (Takes
her hand.)

(Voice. John! John! I say. Susan! where are you? And enter Mr. Frampton,
dressed as the Landlord, on crutches, and with his gouty foot in a
sling.)

Landlord. John! you idle, good-for-nothing vagabond, why don't you come
when you're called--eh?

Susan. Oh, sir! John was just coming, sir; and so was I, sir, if you
please.

Landlord. You, indeed--ugh! you're just as bad as he is, making love in
corners, (aside, Wonder whether she does really,) ins