Mrs. Ly. Now, Sir, I think I have you in my snare—’tis my own letter that has arrived—bearing a fictitious signature, and appointing to meet him in the park alone;—he will receive it—read it—then what should he do? What should a good and true husband do under such circumstances? Show the letter to his wife. Will he do that? If he does, I will freely forgive—forget—and think all that I have heard and seen to be delusions and falsehoods;—but if he neither gives it me, nor alludes to it in any way, I shall then be convinced of his perfidy, and my course shall be resolved on.
Re-enter LYNX, singing carelessly,
“I have pluck’d the fairest flower,” &c. &c.
By Jove, I must dress,—’tis near eleven (looking at his watch) my love, I think I shall dine at my club to-day.
Mrs. Ly. Was the letter that you have just received an invitation to meet some one there?
Lynx. Oh dear, no.
Mrs. Ly. Was it from any one that I am acquainted with?
Lynx. No, ’twas merely a note.
Mrs. Ly. On a matter of business?
Lynx. Yes—yes—mere business.