Lope. Nay, madam, why accuse me,
Before you know the cause?
Enter Urrea.
Urr. How now?—disputing?
Blanca and Violante too? What is it?
Blan. Oh, nothing! (I must keep it from his father.)
Nothing—he quarrell’d with Vicente here,
And would have beat him—and we interposed;
Indeed, no more.
Vic. The blame is sure to fall