Isab. Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines; you know how I hate the sight of him.
Ines. With all his devotion to you!
Isab. I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble.
Ines. I think you are wrong to take it as an affront.
Isab. How would you have me take it?
Ines. Why, as a compliment.
Isab. What, when I hate the man?
Men. Ah! ’pon the honour of an Hidalgo, (which is a sacred oath,) I could have sworn that till this moment the sun had not risen. But why should I wonder? when indeed a second Aurora—
Isab. Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your time playing these fool’s antics before my window day after day!
Men. If a pretty woman only knew, la! how anger improved its beauty! her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, lovely one, grow angrier, and lovelier still.