Henry. I'll tell you frankly, though you'll say, rather inconsistent with my present situation; I'm drawn hither purely by the hopes of meeting an amiable young lady, who engaged my conversation at the Sunday opera, in Paris.
Lack. Her name?—Good family, eh?
Henry. I'm a total stranger to both—talks of her brother's having horses to run, and of their intention of being there at the races.
Lepoche. [Without.] Je n'y manquerai pas.
Lack. [Aside.] This cursed tailor! now I shall be dunned and pestered!
Enter Lapoche.
Lap. Monsieur Lackland, I ville no longer vait for my——
Lack. [Apart to him.] Hush! I'll make your fortune—A customer, rolling in money. Captain, if you're unprovided with neat lodgings, and a good tailor, here's your man, and there's his house.
Lap. Oh, de new customer! bon—speak de goot vort for me.
Lack. He has good apartments.