Elv. Well, for this once.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat. The saints be praised, I’ve found you at last!
Vic. Beatrice!
Elv. Well, what’s the matter?
Vic. You’ll soon see.
Beat. Oh, pray proceed, proceed, good folks, Never mind me: you’ve business—don’t interrupt it—I’ve seen quite enough, besides being quite indifferent who wears my cast-off shoes.
Elv. I beg to say, madam, I wear no shoes except my own, and if I were reduced to other people’s, certainly should not choose those that are made for a wooden leg.
Beat. A wooden leg? pray, madam, what has a wooden leg to do with me?