_Old McB._ Not a fut, you sir--go, Phil dear.

_Phil._ That I will, like a lapwing, father.

_Mr. Carv._ Where to, sir--where so precipitate?

_Phil._ Only to fetch my sister.

_Mr. Carv._ Your sister, sir?--then you need not go far: your sister, Honor
McBride, is, I have reason to believe, in this house.

_Catty._ So. Under whose protection, I wonder?

_Mr. Carv._ Under the protection of Mrs. Carver, madam, into whose service
she was desirous to engage herself; and whose advice--

_Clerk._ Shall I, if you please, sir, call Honor in?

_Mr. Carv._ If you please.

[_A silence.--CATTY stands biting her thumb.--Old McBRIDE leans his chin
upon Us hands on his stick, and never stirs, even his eyes.--Young McBRIDE
looks out eagerly to the side at which HONOR is expected to enter--RANDAL
looking over his shoulder, exclaims--_

There she comes!--Innocence in all her looks.

_Catty._ Oh! that we shall see soon. No making a fool of me.

_Old McB._ My daughter's step--I should know it. (_Aside_) How my old heart