LADY F. (with pretended emotion). Love me, Mr. Vallance? (Aside.) So this is the “little game,” is it? (Aloud.) Well, is that all?
ARTH. All? (Aside). And pretty well too, I think; what the deuce would she have? (Aloud, and very enthusiastically.) No, madam, it is not all! I’ve only just begun! Oh, could you but know the conflicting emotions, the agony, the despair— (counting on his fingers. Aside.) I forgot the rest! (Aloud.) Say, say that you love me in return! (seizing her hand).
LADY F. (with pretended emotion). Oh, Mr. Vallance, you’re too vehement; release my hand!
ARTH. (aside). Release her hand! Come, I like that! I wish she’d let go of mine (trying to disengage his hand, then catching another glimpse of SIR F., who by signs encourages him to proceed. Aloud). Release this hand? Not till I’ve finished! Loved one! let us fly; horses are waiting—flashing express—distant clime—Seringapatam—Madagascar—the Sandwich Islands—anywhere.
LADY F. (with pretended emotion and an affecting faintness). A sudden faintness (leaning against VALLANCE); oh, support me!
SIR F. (looking out). Holloa! holloa!
LADY F. (looking up in ARTHUR’S face, and with mock sentimentality). Oh! Arthur, Arthur!
SIR F. (behind). Damn it, she calls him Arthur!
ARTH. (aside). I’ve been getting on too fast!