SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?
MISS HARDCASTLE. As most profest admirers do: said some civil things of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture.
SIR CHARLES. Now I’m perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive: this forward canting ranting manner by no means describes him; and, I am confident, he never sat for the picture.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Then, what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person.
SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. And if you don’t find him what I describe—I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. [Exeunt.]
SCENE changes to the back of the Garden.
Enter HASTINGS.
HASTINGS. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I’ll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he! and perhaps with news of my Constance.
Enter Tony, booted and spattered.