Mrs. Rack. Thank your stars, that ugliness and ill temper are not added to the list.—You must think her handsome?
Doric. Half her personal beauty would content me; but could the Medicean Venus be animated for me, and endowed with a vulgar soul, I should become the statue, and my heart transformed to marble.
Mrs. Rack. Bless us!—We are in a hopeful way then!
Doric. (Aside.) There must be some envy in this!—I see she is a coquette. Ha, ha, ha! And you imagine I am persuaded of the truth of your character? ha, ha, ha! Miss Hardy, I have been assur'd, Madam, is elegant and accomplished:——but one must allow for a Lady's painting.
Mrs. Rack. (Aside.) I'll be even with him for that. Ha! ha! ha! and so you have found me out!—Well, I protest I meant no harm; 'twas only to increase the éclat of her appearance, that I threw a veil over her charms.——Here comes the Lady;—her elegance and accomplishments will announce themselves.
Enter Letitia, running.
Let. La! Cousin, do you know that our John——oh, dear heart!—I didn't see you, Sir. (Hanging down her head, and dropping behind Mrs. Racket.)
Mrs. Rack. Fye, Letitia! Mr. Doricourt thinks you a woman of elegant manners. Stand forward, and confirm his opinion.
Let. No, no; keep before me.——He's my Sweetheart; and 'tis impudent to look one's Sweetheart in the face, you know.
Mrs. Rack. You'll allow in future for a Lady's painting, Sir. Ha! ha! ha!