Sir C. Hah! and to what sensations, my good niece, shall be attributed the present state of your spirits? To the disgust you took to Clifford almost at first sight. It will not be with indifference, but pleasure, you will hear of his turning out the veriest rascal, the most complete impostor, the most abandoned—but hold, hold!—I must not wrong him by superlatives—he is matched too.
Lady E. Really!—I congratulate you upon such a check of charity.
Sir C. And I wish you joy, my pretty pert one, upon the credit your sex has acquired, in producing this other chef-d'œuvre—such a composition of the highest vices and the lowest—But your goodnature will, I dare say, easily find palliatives for both parties.
Lady E. Come, sir; no more of your sarcasms. I can treat wrong actions with levity, and yet consider them with detestation. Prudes and pretenders condemn with austerity. To the collection of suspicions you are master of, let me add one—In a young lady, of the delicacy and age you have described, always suspect the virtue that does not wear a smile.
Sir C. And the sincerity that wears one awkwardly.
Enter Prompt, hastily.
Prompt. Joy to your honour; I see you have caught her.
Sir C. Her!—whom?
Prompt. [Lady Emily turning.] I ask your ladyship's pardon—Having only the glimpse of a petticoat, and knowing the object of my chase was in this house, I confess I mistook you.