Tiffany. She’s at home too, sir—but I suppose she don’t wish to see you.
Charles. You suppose!
Tiffany. I’m sure she’s been in a monstrous ill-humour ever since you came back, sir.
Charles. The devil she has!—and pray now are you of opinion that my return is the cause of her ill-humour?
Tiffany. Lord, sir—what interest have I in knowing such things?—
Charles. Interest!—oh, ho! the old story! why harkye, my dear—your mistress has a lord for her lover, so I suppose he has secured a warmer interest than I can afford to purchase—however, I know the custom, and thus I comply with it, in hopes you will tell me whether you really think my return has caused your young mistress’ ill-humour——(gives money).
Tiffany. A guinea! well! I declare! why really, sir—when I say Miss Helen has been out of humour on your account, I don’t mean to say it is on account of your return, but on account of your going away again—
Charles. No! my dear Tiffany!
Tiffany. And I am sure I don’t wonder at her being cross about it, for if I was my mistress I never would listen with patience (any more than she does) to such a disagreeable creature as my lord, while such a generous nice gentleman as you was ready to make love to me.
Charles. You couldn’t?