[Footman returns.
Lady Smart. Well, did you deliver your Message? You are fit to be sent for Sorrow, you stay so long by the Way.
Footman. Madam, my Lady was not at Home, so I did not leave the Message.
Lady Smart. This is it to send a Fool of an Errand.
Ld. Sparkish. [looking at his Watch.] ’Tis past Twelve a Clock.
Lady Smart. Well, what is that among all us?
Ld. Sparkish. Madam, I must take my Leave: Come, Gentlemen, are you for a March?
Lady Smart. Well, but your Lordship and the Colonel will dine with us To-day; and, Mr. Neverout, I hope, we shall have your good Company: There will be no Soul else, besides my own Lord and these Ladies; for every body knows, I hate a Croud; I would rather want Vittles than Elbow-Room: We dine punctually at Three.
Ld. Sparkish. Madam, we’ll be sure to attend your Ladyship.
Col. Madam, my Stomach serves me instead of a Clock.