Enter Lord Scratch.
Lord. What a wonderful virtue is the art of hearing!—may I die, if a listener be found any where:—Zounds! am not I a peer, and don't I talk by prerogative?—and, if I mayn't talk ten times as much as another person, what's the use of my peerage?
Ennui. I've an idea—I don't comprehend you.
Lord. That fellow Neville wouldn't hear a word I had to say:—abandoned young dog!—he's come to Bath to invent tales against that divinity, Lady Waitfor't, again, I suppose—but my ward, Louisa, shall be put out of his power for ever—she shall marry you to-morrow.
Ennui. In fact—I always forgot to give your lordship joy of your title, though not of your dress.
Lord. Not of my dress!—ay, ay;—that's the difference—you poor devils, in humble life, are obliged to dress well, to look like gentlemen—we peers may dress as we please—[Looking at his watch.] but I shall lose my appointments—past two o'clock.
Ennui. Past two o'clock!—delightful!
Lord. Delightful!—what, at your old tricks?
Ennui. I'd an idea—it had been only one.
Lord. And you're delighted because it's an hour later?