_IV.--Scythrop's Fate_


He was still in this position when the butler entered to announce that
dinner was on the table. He refused food, and on being told that the
party was much reduced, everybody had gone, requested the butler to
bring him a pint of port and a pistol. He would make his exit like
Werter, but finally took Raven's advice--to dine first, and be miserable
afterwards.

He was sipping his Madeira, immersed in melancholy musing, when his
father entered and requested a rational solution of all this absurdity.

"I will leave it in writing for your satisfaction. The crisis of my fate
is come. The world is a stage, and my direction is exit."

"Do not talk so, sir; do not talk so, Scythrop! What would you have?"

"I would have my love."

"And pray, sir, who is your love?"

"Celinda--Marionetta--either--both."

"Both! That may do very well in a German tragedy, but it will not do in
Lincolnshire. Will you have Miss Toobad?"

"Yes."

"And renounce Marionetta?"