Lady Bushey enters at back during last refrain, and, as duet finishes, comes rapidly forward and separates Winifred and Horace.
LADY B. Oh, Winifred — unhappy child!
WINIFRED. Mamma!
LADY B. Can I trust my eyes? Did I see my darling, my pet lamb, locked in the embrace of a total stranger?
WINIFRED. Oh, mother! A stranger he is, perhaps, but what a perfect stranger?
LADY B. Exactly, so. He is a perfect stranger.
HORACE. Madam, you evidently fail to recognise me, but I have often driven you into Oxford Street. I have set you down at Marshall and Snellgrove's; I have dropped you at Peter Robinson's; and yet you speak of me as a stranger!
LADY B. Why, Winifred, can this be the Apollo who drives the eleven o'clock omnibus from Kensal Green?
WINIFRED. Ah, pity me — pity me, mother — it is he!
LADY B. What a terrible blow! Surely you do not mean to tell me that you love this man!
WINIFRED. "Love" is scarcely the word, mother. I worship him! To my adoring eyes he seems a young sungod!
HORACE (with a pleased smile ). Ha! That is very soothing!
LADY B. I cannot understand how my daughter should have stooped to love one of such humble birth.
HORACE. On the contrary, my elevated seat gave me the advantage. It was I who stooped to love your daughter.
WINIFRED. You hear how clever he is, mamma. He is always saying witty things like that.
LADY B. My poor child! But I must not temporise — I must act at once, and do what I can to rescue you from the consequences of your folly.
HORACE. I trust that you are not going to adopt extreme measures.
LADY B. Do not fear that I shall treat my daughter unkindly. I am going to take her home at once, and for three whole months confine her in the small back room on the top floor. It has been repapered quite recently, and I shall allow her a liberal diet of cold mutton and rice.
WINIFRED. Oh, mamma, how cruel you are!
LADY B. I have no wish to be harsh, but it is impossible for the daughter of Lady Bushey to marry the driver of an omnibus, however handsome and accomplished he may be.