Lucy. So 'tis I that am to die a maid—But the devil was a liar from the beginning; he can't make me die a maid—I've put it out of his power already. [Aside.
Mel. I do but jest. I would have passed for you, and called myself Lucy; but he presently told me my name, my quality, my fortune, and gave me the whole history of my life. He told me of a lover I had in this country, and described Worthy exactly, but in nothing so well as in his present indifference—I fled to him for refuge here to-day; he never so much as encouraged me in my fright, but coldly told me that he was sorry for the accident, because it might give the town cause to censure my conduct; excused his not waiting on me home, made me a careless bow, and walked off—'Sdeath! I could have stabbed him or myself, 'twas the same thing—Yonder he comes—I will so use him!
Lucy. Don't exasperate him; consider what the fortune-teller told you. Men are scarce, and as times go it is not impossible for a woman to die a maid.
Enter Worthy.
Mel. No matter.
Wor. I find she's warned; I must strike while the iron is hot—You've a great deal of courage, madam, to venture into the walks where you were so lately frightened.
Mel. And you have a quantity of impudence, to appear before me, that you so lately have affronted.
Wor. I had no design to affront you, nor appear before you either, madam; I left you here because I had business in another place, and came hither thinking to meet another person.
Mel. Since you find yourself disappointed, I hope you'll withdraw to another part of the walk.
Wor. The walk is broad enough for us both.