Gray. No; I see nobody but you and Mrs. Lucy—I beg her pardon, Mrs. Lucy Gwinett.
Gil. Villain!
Gray. Thou liest—stop—there was a time, when at such a word, I’d seen thee sprawling at my feet; but now, I can’t tell how it is—I cannot strike thee.
Gil. But I’ll tell you how it is—the title’s a just one—you feel it sink into your heart—and your arm is palsied; once more, leave my house.
Gray. And why is my money not as good as a finer customer’s? why can’t you take my money?
[During this scene, Blackthorn and Ash enter behind P. S. and exeunt through door in flat. R.
Gil. Why, in truth, Grayling, I’m afraid ’tis gained by too foul a business.
Gray. Ha! ha! the conscience of an innkeeper.
Gil. Grayling, leave the house; at any time I’d sooner look upon a field of blighted corn, than see you cross my threshold; but on this day, beyond all—
Gray. This day,—and why (sarcastically, and looking at Lucy.) oh, I had forgotten; yes, it is the very day—