Mari. Dinner’s ready.
Torr. (looking at Mari). Lord a’mercy, uncle, what’s this? something you brought from India, belike; does it speak?
Alon. Nay, nephew, ’tis our Duenna.
Torr. A what?
Alon. A Duenna.
Torr. A tame one?
Alon. Come, come, she tells us dinner’s ready.
Torr. Yes, if you believe her; but I’ve heard say, Duennas always lie. However, I’ll go and see for myself.
[Exit.
Clara. What a cousin!