MRS. P.--My dear Master George! [Exit JOHN.]

GEORGE.--Ha, ha! I knew you'd give it me; another boy taught me that.

BELLA.--And a very naughty, rude boy.

GEORGE.--He, he, he! hold your tongue Miss! And said he always got wine
so; and so I used to do it to my poor mamma, Mrs. Prior. Usedn't to like
mamma much.

BELLA.--Oh, you wicked boy!

GEORGY.--She usedn't to see us much. She used to say I tried her nerves:
what's nerves, Mrs. Prior? Give us some more champagne! Will have
it. Ha, ha, ha! ain't it jolly? Now I'll go out and have a run in the
garden. [Runs into garden].

MRS. P.--And you, my dear?

BELLA.--I shall go and resume the perusal of the "Pilgrim's Progress,"
which my grandpapa, Mr. Bonnington, sent me. [Exit ARABELLA.]

MISS P.--How those children are spoilt! Goodness; what can I do? If I
correct one, he flies to grandmamma Kicklebury; if I speak to another,
she appeals to grandmamma Bonnington. When I was alone with them, I had
them in something like order. Now, between the one grandmother and the
other, the children are going to ruin, and so would the house too, but
that Howell--that odd, rude, but honest and intelligent creature, I
must say--keeps it up. It is wonderful how a person in his rank of life