Miss Hard. Yes, sir, that very identical tall, squinting lady you were pleased to take me for. (Curtseying.) She that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable rattle of the ladies' club; ha, ha, ha!
Marl. Zounds, there's no bearing this; it's worse than death.
Miss Hard. In which of your characters, sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates hypocrisy; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap, and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning? ha, ha, ha!
Marl. O, curse on my noisy head! I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I must be gone.
Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall not. I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you. Take courage, man.
They retire, she tormenting him to the back scene.
Enter Mrs. Hardcastle. Tony.
Mrs. Hard. So, so, they're gone off. Let them go, I care not.
Hard. Who gone?
Mrs. Hard. My dutiful niece and her gentleman, Mr. Hastings, from town. He who came down with our modest visitor here.