Jack. Pauvre St. Louis, Bourguignon, La Fleur, courage. I will accommodate you better in a few days.
St. Louis. Fort bien Monsieur.
(Enter SIR ROBERT)
Sir Robert. I don't like all these strange doings here in my House. But come, come, Harriet, I must desire you to show this Lady into the next Room. Here's your Father coming upstairs, and he desires to have a little private conversation with my Son.
Lady Betty. So mon pauvre Marquis, they are going to make you a mere John Trott of an English Husband, sullenly civil to your Spouse, and morosely disobliging to the rest of the World—so a l'honneur, I leave you to your Tête à tête. Ma'm'selle Harriet, a good Evening, you shall certainly have one of my faces, and the Receipt—but I must run away to the Sorethroatini. (Exit)
Sir Robert. Now Jack, be upon your Guard—why don't those French Fellows get out of the Room? Go down Stairs Monsieur. I wou'd not have Mr. Quicksett see 'em for the world. Mr. Quicksett has his oddities, Jack, and hates the French so at this Juncture, that he wou'd willingly pay half his Estate in Taxes, to help 'em to a good drubbing, but be upon your guard, and talk discreetly.
Jack. Had not I better get St. Louis to arrange my dress before I receive the Gentleman's Visit?
Sir Robert. No, no, you must show no French Airs—he is willing to settle his Estate on his Daughter—and I long to have the Match concluded—so take care you don't spoil all. Here he comes.
(Enter QUICKSETT)
Mr. Quicksett, this is my Son—Son, this is Mr. Quicksett, and so now I'll leave you together. (Exit)