Lady. So—here's my lord—now to mention Ennui's play, and if it does but prejudice him against him, Willoughby marries Louisa, and Neville is in my own power.
Enter Lord Scratch.
Lord. That curst pantomime ruffian! nobody knows any thing about him—perhaps my lady has got a sudden touch of the dramatic mania, and prefers him—here she is—now if she would talk about the stage.
Lady. Pray be seated, my lord—I want to ask you a favour.
Lord. Ask me a favour? Is it possible?
[They sit.
Lady. Yes, for your friend Ennui—what do you think he has done?
Lord. What?
Lady. Turned author.—He has written a comedy.
Lord. A comedy!—she has it.