[Exit.
Cælia in Bed, and Flora all Bloody.
Cæl. I’m sorry that I sent thee, since she’s mad,
But would ’twas day, that I might get her lookt to.
Flor. I’m sure she has scratch’t my face sufficiently.
Cæl. ’Tis well it was no worse.
[Pedro knocks.
Flor. Alas! she’l come again!
Ped. Flora, Flora.
[He knocks.
Flor. Who’s that, Pedro! What’s the matter with you?