Countess (Examining her head dress in a pocket looking-glass). What a hideous cap this is, Susan; its quite awry—This Youth who is coming—
Susan. Ah, Madam! Your Beauty needs not the addition of Art in his eyes.
Countess. And my hair too—I assure you, Susan, I shall be very severe with him.
Susan (Smoothing the Countess’s hair). Let me spread this Curl a little, Madam—Oh, pray Madam, make him sing the song he has written.
(Susan throws the song into the Countess’s lap, which the Page had given her.)
Countess. I shall tell him of all the complaints I hear against him.
Susan. Oh Yes Madam; I can see you will scold him, heartily.
Countess (Seriously). What do you say, Susan?
Susan (Goes to the door). Come; come in Mr. Soldier.