Oliv. Mercy; that silent anger is terrifying: I read a young mother-in-law, and an old lady abbess, in every line of his face.
Enter Victoria, r.
Well, you heard the whole, I suppose—heard poor unhappy me scorned and rejected.
Vict. I heard you in imminent danger; and expected Signor Da Capo would have snapped you up, in spite of caprice and extravagance.
Oliv. Oh, they charmed, instead of scaring him. I soon found, that my only chance was to fall across his caprice. Where is the philosopher who could withstand that?
Vict. But what, my good cousin, does all this tend to?
Oliv. I dare say you can guess. Penelope had never cheated her lovers with a never-ending web, had she not had an Ulysses.
Vict. An Ulysses! what, are you then married?
Oliv. O no, not yet! but, believe me, my design is not to lead apes; nor is my heart an icicle. If you choose to know more, put on your veil, and slip with me through the garden, to the Prado.
Vict. I can't, indeed. I am this moment going to dress en homme to visit the impatient Portuguese.