Julio. I beg your pardon; but, to confess, I had heard you described as a lady who had not quite so much sweetness, and——
Min. Oh! what, you had heard that I was a termagant, I suppose.—'Tis all slander, sir: there is not in Madrid, though I say it, a sweeter temper than my own; and though I have refused a good many lovers, yet, if one was to offer himself that I could like—
Julio. You would take pity, and reward his passion.
Min. I would.
Julio. Lovely Donna Olivia, how charming is this frankness!—'Tis a little odd, though! [Aside.]
Min. Why, I believe I should take pity: for it always seemed to me to be very hard-hearted, to be cruel to a lover that one likes, because, in that case, one should—a—you know, sir, the sooner the affair is over, the better for both parties.
Julio. What the deuce does she mean?—Is this Garcia's sour fruit?
Cæsar. [Without, r.] Olivia! Olivia!
Min. Bless me, I hear my father! Now, sir, I have a particular fancy that you should not tell him, in this first visit, your design.
Julio. Madam, my design!