Loveyet. No matter,—it could not have come to a more suitable place; for, now it is here, it shall be yours, if you will consent to a proposal I have to make to you; for I have discovered it to be my property, after all.
Maria. If I can with propriety consent to anything you may propose, I will, sir;—but I hope you do not think either your or your son's money will tempt me.
Loveyet. No, madam,—that is to say, I dare say it will not tempt you to do anything that is wrong;—but money is a tempting thing too,—though not quite so tempting as Miss Maria.—Hem, hem.—There was a delicate compliment for her!
[Aside.
Maria. Mercy on me! What can the ugly old mortal mean! It cannot be possible he would have the vanity to propose his odious self.
[Aside.
Loveyet. You must know, madam, my son has lately arrived from the West-Indies—
Maria. Really?—You rejoice me, sir.—Happy, happy Harriet!
Loveyet. Not so happy as you imagine, madam; for she is not to have my son, I assure you; I intend a lady of greater beauty and merit for him, who is not very far from me now,—provided she and her father have no objection.—There I put it home to her [Aside.]. Ugh, ugh.
Maria. I fear there is something in this rumour about Harriet.