General Bridgenorth is a well set up man of fifty, with large
brave nostrils, an iron mouth, faithful dog's eyes, and much
natural simplicity and dignity of character. He is ignorant,
stupid, and prejudiced, having been carefully trained to be so;
and it is not always possible to be patient with him when his
unquestionably good intentions become actively mischievous; but
one blames society, not himself, for this. He would be no worse a
man than Collins, had he enjoyed Collins's social opportunities.
He comes to the hearth, where Mrs Bridgenorth is standing with
her back to the fireplace.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Good morning, Boxer. [They shake hands]. Another
niece to give away. This is the last of them.
THE GENERAL [very gloomy] Yes, Alice. Nothing for the old warrior
uncle to do but give away brides to luckier men than himself.
Has--[he chokes] has your sister come yet?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Why do you always call Lesbia my sister? Dont
you know that it annoys her more than any of the rest of your
tricks?
THE GENERAL. Tricks! Ha! Well, I'll try to break myself of it;
but I think she might bear with me in a little thing like that.
She knows that her name sticks in my throat. Better call her your
sister than try to call her L-- [he almost breaks down] L-- well,
call her by her name and make a fool of myself by crying.
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