Duke. Is it possible you can still doubt who I am, after the letters we have exchanged? [Mrs Jennings bewildered]. I am the Duke of Peckham Rye!
Mrs Jennings [humouring him]. Oh, indeed, yes! The Duke of Peckham Rye! Very nice, indeed!
Duke [aside]. How curiously she takes it! She doesn't seem a bit interested. [Aloud]. I hoped, madam, after what had passed between us, that you would, perhaps, not be sorry that we should meet.
Mrs Jennings. Of course, yes—I am delighted to make your acquaintance.
Duke. Shall I confess to you with what a subtle mysterious charm my fancy had already, and rightly, invested you? The very paper on which your letters were written, the perfume which clung to them was dear to me.
Mrs Jennings [trying to conceal her uneasiness]. Oh, yes, indeed, yes! Most kind of you, I'm sure!
Duke. I have them next my heart—see, here they are!
[Brings out packet of letters, shows her the cover of one].
Mrs Jennings [starts and shrieks]. What—what do I see! Princess Blakowska's hand-writing!
Duke. Your own writing—yes, of course.