yourself; some one who addresses you in the fixed morality and
severe penmanship of the copy-books. He will never precipitate
himself over a garden wall or through a window. Your Jacob will
wait for you through seven years, and receive you from the hands of
your cousin and guardian--as a reward of merit! No, you could not
love a vagabond.

Miss Mary (very slowly and quietly). No?

Jovita. No! (Passionately.) No, it is impossible. Forgive me,
Miss Mary: you are good; a better girl than I am. But think of me!
A year ago my lover leaped a wall at midnight to fly with me:
today, the day that gives me to him, he writes a few cold lines,
saying that he has business, BUSINESS--you understand--business,
and that he shall not see me until we meet in the presence of--of--
of--our fathers.

Miss Mary. Yes; but you will see him at least, perhaps alone.
Listen: it is no formal meeting, but one of festivity. My guardian
has told me, in his quaint scriptural way, it is the killing of the
fatted calf, over his long-lost prodigal. Have patience, little
one. Ah! Jovita, we are of a different race, but we are of one
sex; and as a woman I know how to accept another woman's abuse of
her lover. Come, come! [Exeunt MISS MARY and JOVITA.


SCENE 5.--The drawing-room of MR. MORTON'S villa. Large open arch
in centre, leading to veranda, looking on distant view of San
Francisco; richly furnished,--sofas, arm-chairs, and tete-a-tetes.
Enter COL. STARBOTTLE, C., carrying bouquet, preceded by SERVANT,