My conscience! My conscience has been my ruin. Listen to me.
Twice before I have set up as a respectable medical practitioner in
various parts of England. On both occasions I acted conscientiously,
and told my patients the brute truth instead of what they wanted to be
told. Result, ruin. Now I've set up as a dentist, a five shilling
dentist; and I've done with conscience forever. This is my last chance.
I spent my last sovereign on moving in; and I haven't paid a shilling of
rent yet. I'm eating and drinking on credit; my landlord is as rich as
a Jew and as hard as nails; and I've made five shillings in six weeks.
If I swerve by a hair's breadth from the straight line of the most rigid
respectability, I'm done for. Under such a circumstance, is it fair to
ask me to lunch with you when you don't know your own father?
DOLLY. After all, our grandfather is a canon of Lincoln Cathedral.
VALENTINE (like a castaway mariner who sees a sail on the horizon).
What! Have you a grandfather?
DOLLY. Only one.
VALENTINE. My dear, good young friends, why on earth didn't you tell
me that before? A cannon of Lincoln! That makes it all right, of
course. Just excuse me while I change my coat. (He reaches the door in
a bound and vanishes. Dolly and Phil stare after him, and then stare at
one another.
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