A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

AMANDA.
Not at all: I ask you for another reason.

LOVELESS.
[Aside.] Whate’er her reason be, I must not tell her true.—[Aloud.] Why, I confess, she’s handsome: but you must not think I slight your kinswoman, if I own to you, of all the women who may claim that character, she is the last that would triumph in my heart.

AMANDA.
I’m satisfied.

LOVELESS.
Now tell me why you asked?

AMANDA.
At night I will—adieu!

LOVELESS.
I’m yours. [Kisses her and exit.]

AMANDA.
I’m glad to find he does not like her, for I have a great mind to persuade her to come and live with me. [Aside.]

BERINTHIA.
So! I find my colonel continues in his airs; there must be something more at the bottom of this than the provocation he pretends from me. [Aside.]

AMANDA.
For Heaven’s sake, Berinthia, tell me what way I shall take to persuade you to come and live with me.

BERINTHIA.
Why, one way in the world there is, and but one.