Scar. All this he did.
Ela. And for my being confin’d a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.
Scar. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,—there are such Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your Father’s consent too; such a Plot, Madam—
Ela. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?—
Scar. Such a Device—
Ela. I’m impatient.
Scar. Such a Conundrum,—Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in the World, they are intriguing Lovers.
Ela. Out with it.
Scar. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.
Ela. Or rather mad.