her father runs out.)

Eglantine. Jane, is any thing the matter with papa? Isn’t he well?

Jane. Yes, miss, he’s well enough. He’s found that son-in-law of his’n,—that angel!

Eglantine. Angel? son-in-law?

Jane. That’s all the matter with him.

Eglantine. Son-in-law? Good heavens! Where is he?

Jane. In that there room, a-cleaning hisself.

Eglantine. Did you see him? Is he young? Is he handsome?

Jane (impressively). You’ve heared of the sacrifice of Abraham, Miss Eglantine?

Eglantine. Certainly.

Jane (slowly). Well, ’tain’t a circumstance to the sacrifice of Coddle!

Eglantine. Jane, what do you mean?

Jane. Maybe you know, miss, that, in the matter of hearing, your pa is deficient?

Eglantine. Yes, yes! Go on.

Jane (slowly). Alongside of the feller he’s picked out for your beau, your pa can hear the grass grow on the mounting-top, easy!

Eglantine. Deaf?

Jane. Not deef, miss; deef ain’t a touch to it.

Eglantine. Deaf? it’s out of the question! I won’t have him! I refuse him! A hundred thousand times I refuse such a husband.

Jane. Quite right, miss. He’d be the death of me. Your pa can’t marry you without your consent: don’t give it.

Eglantine. Never! They don’t know me. Cruel! cruel! (Weeps.)

Jane. So it be, Miss Eglantine; so it be. I never see the beat on’t. Better give him the mitten out of hand, miss.

Eglantine. Instantly, if he were here. The wretch! How dare he?

Jane. I’ll call him. (To door. Knocks.) Mr. Whittermat! I say!—He’s furrin, miss.—Mr. Whittermat! (Knocks furiously.)

(Whitwell comes out of chamber; sees Eglantine.)

Whitwell (aside). Ha! my partner at Lady Thornton’s!

Eglantine (aside). Why, this is the gentleman I danced with at Sir Edward’s! What nonsense is this about his being deaf? Jane, this gentleman hears as well as I do myself. What do you mean?

Jane. Does he, miss? Reckon not. You shall see.

Whitwell (aside). How annoying I can’t give a hint to Miss Coddle! If that troublesome minx were only out of the way, now!

Jane (in ordinary voice). Young man, you may suit Mr. Coddle, and I des’say you does, but you don’t suit here. So git up and git.

Eglantine. Jane!

Jane. Pshaw! Miss Eglantine, he can’t hear nary a sound.

Whitwell (aside). You couldn’t, if my finger and thumb were to meet on your ear, you vixen! (To Eglantine.) Miss Coddle is excessively kind to receive me with such condescending politeness.

Jane. Ha, ha, ha! I told you so, Miss Eglantine. He thinks I paid him a compliment, sartain as yeast.

Eglantine. Very strange! When I met this poor gentleman at Lady Thornton’s, he was not afflicted in this way.

Jane. Wasn’t he, miss? Well, he’s paying for all his sins now. It’s providential, I’ve no doubt.

Whitwell (aloud). Pity me, Miss Coddle. A dreadful misfortune has befallen me since I had the pleasure of meeting you at the Thorntons’. My horse fell with me, and in falling I struck on my head. I have been totally deaf ever since.

Eglantine. Poor, poor young man! My heart bleeds for him.

Whitwell. Ordinary conversation I am incapable of hearing; but you, Miss Coddle, whose loveliness has never been absent from my memory since that happy day, you I am certain I could understand with ease. My eyes will help me to interpret the movements of your lips. Speak to me, and the poor sufferer whose sorrows awake your healing pity will surely hear.

Eglantine. Can this be possible?

Whitwell. You said, “Can this be possible?” I am sure.

Eglantine. Yes.

Whitwell. I knew it.

Jane. The dickens! Can he hear with his eyes? (Aside.) I hope old Coddle won’t never get that ’ere accomplishment.

Eglantine. Oh, how sad! What a misfortune! But a deaf husband! Oh, impossible! (Exit slowly, I. U., much distressed.)

Whitwell (follows to door). Stay, oh, stay, Miss Coddle!

Jane (laughing). Ha, ha! Don’t flatter yourself, puppy. She’s not for you, jolterhead!

Whitwell (shakes Jane violently). I’m a jolterhead, am I? A puppy, am I?

Jane. Lord forgive me, I do believe he can hear! (Drops into chair.)

Whitwell (pulls her up). Yes, vixen! For you I hear perfectly. For your master, it suits me to be deaf. And, if you dare to betray me, I’ll let him know your treachery. I heard your impudent speeches, every one of them.

Jane. Oh, for mercy’s sake, Mr. Whittermat, don’t do that! My hair would turn snow in a single night! Think of my legacy!

Whitwell. Silence for silence, then, you wretched woman.

Jane. Certainly, certainly, Mr. Whittermat. Besides, now you ain’t deaf no longer, I like you first-rate. I accept your addresses j’yful.

Whitwell. Lucky for you, you witch.

Coddle (outside). Jane!

Jane. Oh, sir, now pray be careful. He’s as spiteful as spiteful. If he finds you out, all the fat’ll be in the fire.

Whitwell. Be quite easy, Jane. To win Eglantine I’ll be a horse-post, a tomb-stone. Fire a thousand-pounder at my ear, and I’ll not wink.

Coddle (outside). Jane, Jane! I say.

Jane. Step into the garden, Mr. Whittermat; and when I ring the dinner-bell, don’t you take no notice.

Whitwell. I’m fly. But ain’t I hungry, though, by Jove! Don’t forget me.

Jane (pushing him out C.). I’ll come out and call you. (Exeunt L.)

(Enter Coddle, R.)

Coddle. A miracle! A perfect miracle. Wonderful electro-acoustico-galvanism! I can hear! I can hear! I can hear!

(Enter Eglantine.)

Eglantine (screams). Papa, love!