Eustace. Well—(To Molly.) And how dare you, you little hussy, tell me such a rhodomontade?
Molly. (Confused.) Why, master,—I only told you what I thought. (Aside.) I’ll not give it up yet.
Eustace. Come, Mr. Polyglot, to supper.
Poly. I have no appetite, thank you; and am rather unwell.
Molly. (Aside.) Guilty conscience.
Eustace. You look ill. Robin shall bring you something into your own room.
Charles. (Aside.) And my wife there!
Eustace. Come with me, Charles. Good night Mr. Polyglot: pardon my suspicion, my worthy friend. (To Molly.) Do you go to bed, and let me hear no more of that chattering little tongue of yours to-night. Robin! go lock the outer doors, bring me the keys, and then take some supper to Mr. Polyglot.
Charles. (Aside.) Then there will be no escape for her.
Eustace. Come, Charles, come.