LEAND. Who, I?
LEL. Yes, yourself.
LEAND. I have, however, no occasion to be so.
LEL. I see well enough what it is; Celia is the cause of it.
LEAND. My mind does not run upon such trifles.
LEL. And yet you had formed some grand scheme to get her into your hands; but you must speak thus, as your stratagem has miscarried.
LEAND. Were I fool enough to be enamoured of her, I should laugh at all your finesse.
LEL. What finesse, pray?
LEAND. Good Heavens! sir, we know all.
LEL. All what?