[Exit.
Har. You won't find 'em over brisk, I fancy. I foresee some ill happening from this making believe to die before one's time. But hang it—a-hem!—I am a stout man yet; only fifty-six—What's that? In the last Yearly Bill there were three lived to above an hundred. Fifty-six!——Fiddle-de-dee! I am not afraid, not I.
[Exit.
SCENE II.——Doricourt's.
Doricourt in his Robe-de-Chambre.
Enter Saville.
Sav. Undress'd so late?
Doric. I didn't go to bed 'till late—'twas late before I slept—late when I rose. Do you know Lord George Jennett?
Sav. Yes.
Doric. Has he a Mistress?
Sav. Yes.
Doric. What sort of a creature is she?