Don. Louisa. Let us see, however.—[Reads.] Dearest daughter, make your lover happy: you have my full consent to marry as your whim has chosen, but be sure come home and sup with your affectionate father.
Don Ant. You jest, Louisa!
Don. Louisa. [Gives him the letter..] Read! read!
Don Ant. 'Tis so, by heavens! Sure there must be some mistake; but that's none of our business.—Now, Louisa, you have no excuse for delay.
Don. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my father?
Don Ant. But first let the priest put it out of his power to recall his word.—I'll fly to procure one.
Don. Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you may lose me.
Don Ant. Come, then—there is a friar of a neighbouring convent is my friend; you have already been diverted by the manners of a nunnery; let us see whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers.
Don. Louisa. I'm afraid not, Antonio—for in religion, as in friendship, they who profess most are the least sincere. [Exeunt.]
Re-enter DONNA CLARA.