MIZ. (Aside.) Cotton! I old master’s daughter?
BOLT. (Aside.) Zounds! she knows nothing, after all.—Yes, ma’am, you’ve hit it. My name is Cutaway.
MRS. C. Ha! ha! you confess. You see I was too sharp for you; I found out you were Mr. Cutaway.
BOLT. To be sure you did! you are so sharp, ma’am. He! he! you found out Mr. Cutaway—He! he! ha!
Enter BRIDGET, L.
BRIDG. Please, ma’am, Mr. Cotton’s foreman, Mr. Bolt, is here.
BOLT. He is not! No! no! my name is Cut—Cutaway!
MIZ. Mr. Bolt is not here! no, nor Mizzle either; this gentleman’s name is Cutaway—my name is Miss Harriet.
BRIDG. But Mr. Bolt is at the street door.