Warner_, who very promptly cuts matters short by ringing the bell and
saying "Good evening," in that tone of voice which always intimates a
desire for a good riddance. This hint is too broad ever to be mistaken; so
the sponge and his victim back out.
_Mr. Warner_ is a merchant, and all merchants in plays are the "noblest
characters the world can boast," and very rich. Thus it has happened that
_Warner_ has, through a money-agent, one _Grub_, been enabled to lend, at
various times, large sums of money, to _Lady Norwold_--her ladyship being
one of those who, dreading "what will the world say?" is by no means an
economist, and prefers "ruin to retrenchment." As security for these
loans, the lady deposits her jewels, suite by suite, till the great object
of all _Warner's_ advances gets into his possession--namely, a bracelet,
which is a revered relic of the Norwold family. So far _Warner_, in spite
of a troublesome ward, and his late visitors, is happy; but he soon
receives a letter, which puts his happiness to flight. His daughter, who
has been on a visit in Paris, became, he now learns, united some months
before, to _Charles Norwold_, and a governess in his father's family. By
further inquiries, he learns that the son is discarded, and is, with his
wife, consigned to beggary, for fear of--"what will the world say?"
The fourth act exhibits one of the scenes of human life hitherto veiled
from the eyes of the most prying--a genuine specimen of the sponge
species--at home! Actually living under a roof that he calls his own; in
company with a wife who is certainly nobody else's.
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