Trueman. 'Zounds! Why not, pray?
Loveyet. What, in the name of ill luck, can they mean!—I hope, I—oh, there they come.
Enter Harriet and Charles Loveyet.
Cantwell. Oh, dear, here they are;—why she don't look as if that was the case.
[To Herald.
Trueman. I desire, ladies, to know what you mean, by these mysterious whispers.
Cantwell. La! sir; you only want to put a body to the blush; but if you want an explanation, that gentleman [Pointing to Worthnought.] can give it to you.
Charles. The villain! [Aside.]—I fancy I could explain it as well.
Worthnought. Hem, hem,—now comes on my trial.
[Aside.