“I have no exquisite
reason.”
“Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night,” urged Maria. “Since the youth of Duke Orsino’s was to-day with my lady, she is much disquieted. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a by-word and make him a general laughing-stock, never trust my wit. I know I can do it.”
“Good, good! Tell us something about him,” said Sir Toby.
“Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan,” said Maria.
“Oh, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog!” cried the silly Sir Andrew.
“What, for being a puritan?” asked Sir Toby, who was always ready to ridicule Sir Andrew’s brainless remarks, though he made such a companion of him. “Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?”
“I have no exquisite reason for it, but I have reason good enough,” said the foolish young man sulkily.
Maria then went on to say that Malvolio’s self-conceit as to his own merits was so great that he imagined everyone who looked at him loved him, and this would give them an opening for their revenge. She would drop in his way some vaguely expressed letters of love, in which he should find his different peculiarities so well described that there could be no doubt as to whom was meant. She could write very like the lady Olivia; in fact, they sometimes could not tell their own handwritings apart. Malvolio would think the letters he found came from Olivia, and that she was in love with him.
Maria’s trick was not a very praiseworthy one, but her hearers were not troubled with scruples. They only thought how delightfully comic it would be to see the stiff and starched steward priding himself on the conquest he had made, and what deep humiliation would fall on him when his mistake was discovered.