Bill. My eye!—Is she a square Moll, sir?
Wat. What do you mean by that?
Bill. Green you are, to be sure!—She ain't one as steals, or—
Wat. Not she. She's a sempstress—a needlewoman, or something of the sort.
Bill. And where shall I find you, sir?
Wat. Let me see:—to-morrow night—on the steps of St. Martin's Church—ten o'clock.
Bill. But if I don't find her? It may be a week—or a month—or—
Wat. Come whether you find her or not, and let me know.
Bill. All serene, sir! There you are, sir! Brush your trousers, sir?
Wat. No; leave 'em.—Don't forget now.