Mrs. Croaker. Mr. Croaker, I bring you something, my dear, that I believe will make you smile.
Croaker. I'll hold you a guinea of that, my dear.
Mrs. Croaker. A letter; and, as I knew the hand, I ventured to open it.
Croaker. And how can you expect your breaking open my letters should give me pleasure?
Mrs. Croaker. Pooh, it's from your sister at Lyons, and contains good news: read it.
Leont.—"But, if modesty attracts her,
impudence may disgust her. I'll try."—p. 282.
Croaker. What a Frenchified cover is here! That sister of mine has some good qualities, but I could never teach her to fold a letter.
Mrs. Croaker. Fold a fiddlestick! Read what it contains.
Croaker. (reading.) "Dear Nick,—An English gentleman, of large fortune, has for some time made private, though honourable, proposals to your daughter Olivia. They love each other tenderly, and I find she has consented, without letting any of the family know, to crown his addresses. As such good offers don't come every day, your own good sense, his large fortune, and family considerations, will induce you to forgive her.—Yours ever, Rachel Croaker." My daughter Olivia privately contracted to a man of large fortune! This is good news indeed. My heart never foretold me of this. And yet, how slily the little baggage has carried it since she came home! Not a word on't to the old ones, for the world! Yet I thought I saw something she wanted to conceal.