Susan is at her wits' end. [_Aside to Susan_] What on earth
are we to do now?

_Enter SERVANT._

[_In stentorian tones_] Luncheon is on the table! [_Then, approaching
Susan, he adds, in lower but distinct tones_] A lady wishes to see you,
madam, upon very particular business.

_Susan [surprised]._ A lady! what lady?

_Nokes [to Susan, aside and impatiently]._ Never mind _what_ lady; see
her at once, whoever she is: it will be an excuse for getting away from
these people.--My wife is engaged for the present, my good friends, so
we'll sit down to lunch without her.

[_All bow and leave the room, receiving in return from Susan a stately
courtesy. Nokes, the last to leave, kisses his hand to her_.] Adorable
Susan, you have conquered, you remain in possession of the field; but
you must not risk another engagement. I will see to that. Champagne
shall do its work on Rasper--_Gasper_.

_Enter MRS. CHARLES NOKES, neatly but cheaply attired. SUSAN rises,
bows, and looks toward her interrogatively._

_Mrs. Charles Nokes._ I did not send in my name, madam, because I feared
it would but prejudice you against your visitor. I am Charles's--that
is, your husband's niece by marriage; not a near relation to yourself,
you might say, if you wished to be unkind,--which [_with earnestness_] I
do not think you do.

_Susan [distressed, but endeavoring to remain firm]._ Oh, but I do,
ma'am. I wish to be as hard as a stone. [Aside] Only I can't. What a
pretty, modest young creature she is!

_Mrs. C.N._ The poor give you no such severe character, madam; and,
taking courage by their report, and being poor myself, and, alas! having
been the innocent cause of making others poor, I have ventured hither.

_Susan [aside]._ Oh, I wish she wouldn't! I can't stand this. There's
something in her face, too, that reminds me--but there! have I not
promised my husband to be brutal and unfeeling? [_Aloud_] Madame, I am
sorry, but I have noting for you. Mr. Noke, mai husband, he tell me dat
hees nephew is very foolish, weeked _jeune homme_--

_Mrs. C.N. [interrupting]._ Foolish, madam, he may have been, nay, he
was, to fall in love with a poor orphan like myself, who had nothing to
give him _but_ my love,--but not wicked. He has a noble heart. His
sorrow is not upon his own account, but for his wife and child. He has
bent his proud spirit twice to entreat his uncle's forgiveness, but in
vain. And now _I_ have come to appeal to _you_,