Enter Lady Tremor and Twineall.
Sir Luke. Where is his Lordship? What have you done with him?
Lady. He's speaking a word to Mr. Meanright about his passport to England.—Did you mean me, Sir Luke, that had no philosophy? I protest, I have a great deal.
Sir Luke. When? where did you shew it?
Lady. Why, when the servant at my Lady Grissel's threw a whole urn of boiling water upon your legs, did I give any proofs of female weakness? did I faint, scream, or even shed a tear?
Sir Luke. No—no—very true—and while I lay sprawling on the carpet, I could see you fanning and holding the smelling bottle to the Lady of the house, begging her not to make herself uneasy, "for that the accident was of no manner of consequence."
Aur. Dear Sir, don't be angry;—I am sure her Ladyship spoke as she thought.
Sir Luke. I suppose she did, Miss.
Aur. I mean—she thought the accident might be easily got the better of—She thought you might be easily recovered.
Lady. No, indeed, I did not—but I thought Sir Luke had frequently charged me with the want of patience; and that moment, the very thing in the world I cou'd have wished, happened—on purpose to give me an opportunity to prove his accusation false.