BOLT. The devil you have? Then we are bowled out. Madam, we throw ourselves upon your mercy!
MIZ. Yes! don’t say anything to old Cotton.
MRS. C. (Aside.) Old Cotton! what a respectful name to call her father!—I will not; I am inclined to be friendly. I have some influence over him;—I’ll prevail on him to pardon all.
BOLT. Will you though? Then give us your hand. (Takes her hand.)
MIZ. (Takes other hand.) Yes! you are a regular good ’un!
MRS. C. (Aside.) A good one! Her language is not particularly romantic.—Nay, more than that, I think I can persuade him to consent to your union.
MIZ. The lady means a partnership.
MRS. C. A partnership?—to be sure—for life—marriage!
BOLT. I’ll be blowed if we understand one another, now!
MRS. C. Yes! we do.—Fie, Miss Cotton; do you think I do not recognise your clandestine lover, Mr. Cutaway?