Sav. I should have been happy to have prevented Sir George. I hope your Ladyship's adventure last night did not disturb your dreams?
Lady Fran. Not at all; for I never slept a moment. My escape, and the importance of my obligations to you, employed my thoughts. But we have just had shocking intelligence—Is it true that Doricourt is mad?
Sav. So; the business is done. (Aside.) Madam, I am sorry to say, that I have just been a melancholy witness of his ravings: he was in the height of a paroxysm.
Mrs. Rack. Oh, there can be no doubt of it. Flutter told us the whole history. Some Italian Princess gave him a drug, in a box of sweetmeats, sent to him by her own page; and it renders him lunatic every month. Poor Miss Hardy! I never felt so much on any occasion in my life.
Sav. To soften your concern, I will inform you, Madam, that Miss Hardy is less to be pitied than you imagine.
Mrs. Rack. Why so, Sir?
Sav. 'Tis rather a delicate subject—but he did not love Miss Hardy.
Mrs. Rack. He did love Miss Hardy, Sir, and would have been the happiest of men.
Sav. Pardon me, Madam; his heart was not only free from that Lady's chains, but absolutely captivated by another.
Mrs. Rack. No, Sir—no. It was Miss Hardy who captivated him. She met him last night at the Masquerade, and charmed him in disguise—He professed the most violent passion for her; and a plan was laid, this evening, to cheat him into happiness.