Tiff. A young woman is without, inquiring for sir Willoughby, ma’am; I thought he had been here.
Tiff. Yes, ma’am; ’tis Fanny, the daughter of the odd man that lives on the common.
Helen. I’ll see her myself—desire her to walk up. [Exit Tiffany.
Lord A. (seems uneasy) Indeed! what brings her here?
Helen. Why, what can be the matter now? your lordship seems quite melancholy on a sudden.
Lord A. I, madam! oh no!—or if I am—’tis merely a head ach, or some such cause, or perhaps owing to the influence of the weather.
Helen. Your lordship is a very susceptible barometer—when you entered this room your countenance was set fair; but now I see the index points to stormy.
Lord A. Madam, you have company, or business—a good morning to you.
Helen. Stay, stay, my lord.