Wal. Give me your hand
And word to that.

Julia. There! Take my hand and word!

Wal. That lord hath offered you his hand again.

Julia. He has?

Wal. Your father knows it: he approves of him.
There are the title-deeds of the estates,
Sent for my jealous scrutiny. All sound, -
No flaw, or speck, that e'en the lynx-eyed law
Itself could find. A lord of many lands!
In Berkshire half a county; and the same
In Wiltshire, and in Lancashire! Across
The Irish Sea a principality!
And not a rood with bond or lien on it!
Wilt give that lord a wife? Wilt make thyself
A countess? Here's the proffer of his hand.
Write thou content, and wear a coronet!

Julia. [Eagerly.] Give me the paper.

Wal. There! Here's pen and ink.
Sit down. Why do you pause? A flourish of
The pen, and you're a countess.

Julia. My poor brain
Whirls round and round! I would not wed him now,