Jarvis. Nay, don't talk ill of my master, madam: I won't bear to hear any body talk ill of him but myself.
Garnet. Bless us! now I think on't, madam, you need not be under any uneasiness: I saw Mr. Leontine receive forty guineas from his father just before he set out, and he can't yet have left the inn. A short letter will reach him there.
Olivia. Well remembered, Garnet; I'll write immediately. How's this? Bless me, my hand trembles so I can't write a word. Do you write, Garnet; and, upon second thought, it will be better from you.
Garnet. Truly, madam, I write and indite but poorly: I never was cute at my larning. But I'll do what I can to please you. Let me see. All out of my own head, I suppose?
Olivia. Whatever you please.
Garnet (writing). Muster Croaker—Twenty guineas, madam?
Olivia. Ay, twenty will do.
Garnet. At the bar of the Talbot till called for. Expedition—will be blown up—All of a flame—Quick, dispatch—Cupid, the little God of Love—I conclude it, madam, with Cupid; I love to see a love-letter end like poetry.
Olivia. Well, well, what you please, anything. But how shall we send it? I can trust none of the servants of this family.
Garnet. Odso, Madam, Mr. Honeywood's butler is in the next room; he's a dear, sweet man; he'll do anything for me.