Enter Blandish out of Breath.
Blandish. The duel's over.
Sir C. And the parties unhurt—You are too late in your intelligence by some minutes. But I know you must rejoice [Ironically.] from your attachment to all parties.—Miss Alscrip, your very—
Miss Als. Duel!—Pray let us hear the particulars—As there is no mischief, I shall not faint.
[Ironically.
Sir C. I guess it has been of the common-place kind.—Hats over the brows—glum silence—thrust—parry—and riposte——Explain and shake hands: Your man of honour never sets his friend right, till he has exchanged a shot—or a thrust: Oh, a little steel recipe is a morning whet to the temper: It carries off all qualms, and leaves the digestion free for any thing that is presented to it.
Miss Als. Dear, how fortunate! Considering the pills some folks have to swallow.
Sir C. Blandish, see if the door of Clifford's room is yet unlocked, there is a person within you little expect to find, and whom it may be proper for this lady and me to interrogate together.
[The Door opens, and