MRS. S. (aside and smiling) At last. (aloud) Love! ha, ha, ha! Love of bank notes!
RAT. (earnestly) No. Love for you. Yes, madam, cannot you imagine an admiration so boundless—a passion so irresistible, that it might prompt a man?
MRS. S. To rob me of £15,000, and frighten me out of senses into the bargain.
RAT. (still more earnestly) Yes, madam, if by so doing, if by apparently reducing the woman to poverty, he hoped to obtain a voluntary resignation of her hand from a rival, who loves her for her fortune only.
MRS. S. Really, Captain Ratcliffe, I must confess you have imagined a marvellous pleasant love story.
RAT. Not more marvellous than true. Here are the proofs, (gives pocket book to MRS. SOMERTON) and now think, madam, what a love must that man’s be who could thus risk his name, character, and reputation, with the sole hope of preserving you your liberty.
MRS. S. But unfortunately the denouement of this romance of real life is wanting; the rival does not resign the lady’s hand.
RAT. (aside, and looking towards room, R. 2 E.) Why the devil doesn’t he make haste with the letters? (POSTLETHWAITE looks in at the door)
MRS. S. (catching a glimpse of him) No, sir, I know my cousin too well—he loves me too dearly to care about my loss of fortune; he will be only too happy to work for me, toil for me, slave for me.
POS. (at door) Will he! (disappears)