Maria. No; but it is very probable you are thinking of a man.
Harriet. And pray what reason have you to think, that my thoughts run upon such an improper subject?
Maria. Improper subject,—ha, ha, ha. So my very discreet, prudish little Harriet never lets man enter into her head; tho' it is pretty notorious somebody has enter'd into her heart long ago.
Harriet. Your discernment must be very subtle, if you know all that is in my heart.
Maria. I only judge of your heart, by your tongue; and the abundance of the former is generally inferred from the speech of the latter.—Yes, yes—that constant, hypocritical heart of yours is now throbbing with love, hope, curiosity, and—a thousand speechless sensations, the improper subject of which, I do not hesitate to declare, is odious man; and that man, the accomplished Mr. Loveyet.
Harriet. Pshaw,—how can you tantalize one so?
Maria. Well, well, it shall not be serv'd like Tantalus any more: he was doom'd to behold; and, beholding, to wish and languish for the tempting draught, in vain: but a better doom awaits the happy Harriet;—what she desires is not thus interdicted, but will soon be obtain'd, and—
Harriet. How strangely you talk, Maria.
Maria. Well, I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Old Mr. Loveyet has received a letter from his son, signifying his intention to leave the West-Indies shortly after its date, so you may expect to see him very soon. Then hey for a wedding, &c.
Harriet. Ha, ha; you are a droll girl.