COT. Promised, madam; may I ask to whom?
MRS. C. To herself, to be sure.
COT. What! have you seen her before?—Harriet, my dear!
HAR. Yes, papa.
MRS. C. This is not your daughter Harriet?
COT. Yes, but it is though; don’t you see the strong likeness?
HAR. Yes, madam; I am Harriet Cotton.
MRS. C. I am petrified! thunderstruck! why, another daughter Harriet came here just now, and is here still.—Bridget!
Enter BRIDGET, R. with veil.
BRIDG. Please, ma’am, Miss Harriet has bolted herself in one of the bed-rooms, and wont open the door. Her veil caught against the banister, ma’am; here it is.