Con. What an excellent tragedian you would have made.
Bel. Tragedian? humbug! I have my hand full of proofs—this bouquet—
Con. Pansies for thought—Love lies a-bleeding. Have you been walking London with this bouquet?
Bel. Yes, madame, I have, and have ended by finding out what I sought to know.
Con. And what is the great discovery you have made? One would almost imagine it were perpetual motion.
Bel. Mr. Fletcher sent you this bunch of flowers.
Con. The race is not to the swift. You have discovered nothing. Fletcher did not send me those flowers.
Bel. I beg your pardon; this bouquet was purchased in Regent-street this morning at 10.45 A.M. The man who bought it was old, and dressed in a drab hat and black coat. They gave me an exact description of him, and I recognised him immediately—the copyist who is always at Fletcher’s elbow, and who is literally his right hand.
Con. The copyist purchased it?