Chignon. Ma foi, your reasons be ver expressive—[Aside.]—but vat devil shall I do—open the cage of my little Rosignol—my pretty nightingale—no. Chignon—no—[Looking out.] ah, hah; La Tiffany——Now for de politique——be-gar I undertake your business—and make you de dupe of de performance.
[Exit with a sign to Sir Clement.
Sir C. So—Clifford—There goes as disinterested a fellow now as any in Europe. But hark you—Can you yet guess the purpose for which I brought you here?
Cliff. I profess, sir, I am in the dark. If it concerns Lord Gayville's secret.
Sir C. Namely, that this dulcinea has started up in the shape of Miss Alscrip's musical companion—Her name is Alton. [Leering.] I tell it you, because I am sure you are not acquainted with it.
Cliff. Sir, you will not know me.—
Sir C. Tut, tut, don't do me such injustice——Come, all delicacy being over, by my having made the discovery, will you talk to this girl?
Cliff. For what end, sir?
Sir C. If you state yourself as Lord Gayville's friend, she will converse with you more readily, than she would with me—Try her—find out what she is really at. If she has no hold upon him but her person, I shall be easy.
Cliff. Sir, let my compliance convince you how much I wish to oblige you. If I can get a sight of this wonder, I promise to give you my faithful opinion of my friend's danger.