Gil. I should like to know what right a man has to be startled when I say Lucy—why one would think you were married, and it was the name of your wife.
Gray. Lucy my wife, no, no.
Gil. No, I should think not indeed.
Gray. And why should you think? but I’m wrong to be so passionate—think no more of it, good Gilbert.
Gil. A cool way of settling matters: you first fly at a man like a dragon—make his heart jump like a tennis ball—and then say, think nothing of it, good Gilbert.
Gray. I confess I am very foolish.
Gil. Oh, spare your confession: people will judge for themselves.
Gray. (aside.) I am almost ashamed to do it, yet I will.
Gil. Why, what’s the matter? you are looking at me as if, like a highwayman, you were considering which pocket I carried my money in.
Gray. Pray, good Gilbert, tell me, do you know whether Miss Lucy has any admirers?