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    Prologue - Page 2

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    disconsolately on
    the top step. A fashionably dressed lady comes through the
    curtains and contemplates him with patient obstinacy. He
    continues, grumbling.] An English clergyman's daughter should be
    able to live quite respectably and comfortably on an allowance of
    œ150 a year, wrung with great difficulty from the domestic
    budget.

    ERMYNTRUDE. You are not a common clergyman: you are an
    archdeacon.

    THE ARCHDEACON [angrily]. That does not affect my emoluments to
    the extent of enabling me to support a daughter whose
    extravagance would disgrace a royal personage. [Scrambling to his
    feet and scolding at her.] What do you mean by it, Miss?

    ERMYNTRUDE. Oh really, father! Miss! Is that the way to talk to a
    widow?

    THE ARCHDEACON. Is that the way to talk to a father? Your
    marriage was a most disastrous imprudence. It gave you habits
    that are absolutely beyond your means--I mean beyond my means:
    you have no means. Why did you not marry Matthews: the best
    curate I ever had?

    ERMYNTRUDE. I wanted to; and you wouldn't let me. You insisted on
    my marrying Roosenhonkers-Pipstein.

    THE ARCHDEACON. I had to do the best for you, my child.
    Roosenhonkers-Pipstein was a millionaire.

    ERMYNTRUDE. How did you know he was a millionaire?

    THE ARCHDEACON. He came from America. Of course he was a
    millionaire. Besides, he proved to my solicitors that he had
    fifteen million dollars when you married him.

    ERYNTRUDE. His solicitors proved to me that he had sixteen
    millions when he died. He was a millionaire to the last.

    THE ARCHDEACON. O Mammon, Mammon! I am punished now for bowing
    the knee to him. Is there nothing left of your settlement? Fifty
    thousand dollars a year it secured to you, as we all thought.
    Only half the securities could be called speculative. The other
    half were gilt-edged. What has become of it all?

    ERMYNTRUDE. The speculative ones were not paid up; and the
    gilt-edged ones just paid the calls on them until the whole show
    burst up.

    THE ARCHDEACON. Ermyntrude: what expressions!

    ERMYNTRUDE. Oh bother! If you had lost ten thousand a year what
    expressions would you use, do you think? The long and the short
    of it is that I can't live in the squalid way you are accustomed
    to.

    THE ARCHDEACON. Squalid!


    ERMYNTRUDE. I have formed habits of comfort.

    THE ARCHDEACON. Comfort!!

    ERMYNTRUDE. Well, elegance if you like. Luxury, if you insist.
    Call it what you please. A house that costs less than a hundred
    thousand dollars a year to run is intolerable to me.

    THE ARCHDEACON. Then, my dear, you had better become lady's maid
    to a princess until you can find another millionaire to marry
    you.
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