Married Life. Buckstone John Baldwin
It can’t be.
Mrs. Y. But it is.
Young. It isn’t; you have not informed Mrs. Lynx of anything, yet.
Mrs. Y. I should have done so, if you had not interrupted and contradicted me, as you always do.
Young. Allow me to tell Mrs. Lynx – you must know, madam, that some years ago, my wife was sent to the boarding-school of Mrs. Dove, in Sussex.
Mrs. Y. No, it was in Kent.
Young. In Sussex!
Mrs. Y. In Kent, I tell you.
Young. If you aggravate me in this manner, I’ll go home again.
Mrs. Ly. Well – well.
Mrs. Y. Last night, at a friend’s house, we accidentally met Mr. and Mrs. Dove – when she informed us that she had given up her school, and was now in London for the purpose of collecting some old debts, and amongst the names of the persons that she had to call on, was that of a Mr. Lynx —
Mrs. Ly. My husband?
Mrs. Y. Your husband.
Young. Louisa, how can you? why will you thus agitate Mrs. Lynx? – you are not sure the Mr. Lynx, that Mrs. Dove is looking for, is the husband of our friend – we merely surmised that it was.
Mrs. Y. I tell you, I’m certain it is the same.
Young. You are not!
Mrs. Y. I am.
Young. It can’t be the same.
Mrs. Y. It is.
Young. It isn’t.
Mrs. Lynx. Now, pray, don’t trifle with me; think of my dreadful suspense – think of my feelings at this moment.
Mrs. Y. Mrs. Dove is now below, with her husband; shall I ask her to walk up? – then she can relate this strange circumstance herself.
Young. You ought first to tell Mrs. Lynx, who and what the people are, before you introduce them to her.
Mrs. Y. There is no necessity for it.
Young. There is.
Mrs. Y. There isn’t.
Young. I tell you, there is.
Mrs. Lynx. Yes, yes – pray tell me.
Mrs. Y. Well, then – Mrs. Dove, you must know, was a widow; and formerly the mistress of a large boarding school; but has now retired, after marrying her footman. They are the oddest couple you ever met with. She is perpetually drilling her husband into politeness and correct pronunciation, which the poor man will never comprehend as long as he lives. Oh, had you but seen them last night! whenever a bell rang, poor Mr. Dove could scarcely help starting from his chair, and running to attend to it; and could only be checked by the alarming eyes of Mrs. Dove. Ha! ha! – Oh, those eyes – how they did remind me of my school-days! just the looks that she used to dart at us, poor refractory girls.
Young. My dear, why don’t you keep to that portion of the narrative, most interesting to Mrs. Lynx; she don’t want to hear of great eyes and refractory girls.
Mrs. Y. I am sure I have mentioned all that is necessary.
Young. You have not.
Mrs. Y. I have.
Young. You have not.
Mrs. Ly. Ask them to walk up, I shall then be satisfied.
Mrs. Y. (Calling.) – Step up, Mrs. Dove, and bring your husband with you.
Young. There is no necessity for calling up Mr. Dove.
Mrs. Y. There is.
Young. There isn’t.
Mrs. Y. There is.
Young. They are here; don’t make a noise.
Mrs. Y. ’Twas you that made the noise.
Young. ’Twas not.
Mrs. Y. It was.
Mrs. Y. Mrs. Lynx – Mr. and Mrs. Dove. – Will you be kind enough to relate to Mrs. Lynx the purport of your enquiry?
Mrs. Dove. The purport of my enquiry is to ascertain, whether the Mr. Lynx, that I am informed is residing here, is the identical person who, two years ago, placed a young lady under my care?
Mrs. Y. A young lady! My husband place a young lady under your care?
Young. Nay, madam, before you distress yourself, you had better be assured that the Mr. Lynx alluded to, is your husband.
Mrs. Dove. The gentleman’s Christian cognomen was Lionel.
Dove. Lionel Lynx, Esquire.
Mrs. Dove. Silence, my dear!
Dove. That is what was on a trunk he sent to our house; that’s all I know, my precious.
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