Lord. What is all this! Well, now I will speak—I'll wait no longer.
Vapid. Yes, yes, I shall take care of you,—Falstaff in the buck basket will be nothing to it—he was only the dupe of another man's wife,—you'll be the dupe of your own, you know—"think of that, Master Brook, think of that." Well, your servant.
[Exit.
Lord. He's gone without hearing me!—then there's an end of every thing, for here I stand, once a barrister,—since a country gentleman, and now a peer; and, though I have made twenty attempts to speak, I can't be heard a syllable,—mercy! what will this world come to! A peer, and not be heard!
Lady. My lord,—assured of my innocence, I have no doubt of justifying my own conduct, and even by means of that letter increasing your affection.—It was written to another person—your ungrateful nephew.
Lord. My nephew?
Lady. Yes, sir, I could not perceive him losing the esteem of his friends, without having the desire to reclaim him—indeed, I knew no better mode of fulfilling my project, than by personally warning him of his situation.—For this purpose, I wrote that letter, and I never thought it would have been thus misused.—If there is any improper warmth in the expressions, it only proceeds from my anxiety of ensuring an interview.—I hope, sir, you are satisfied.
Lord. Why, I believe you, my lady; and I should be perfectly satisfied if I could forget your passion for the stage, and that madman behind the sofa.
Lady. As to that, sir, this young lady can best inform you.—I desired him to leave the house an hour ago.
Mari. [Aside.] I'm afraid my only way is to confess all.—My lord, if I confess the truth, I hope you'll prevail on my aunt to forgive me.