Lady Betty. Pray do. And let Miss Harlowe be told, that I am ready to receive her as the most welcome of guests: and I will not have her out of my sight till the knot is tied.
Lady Sarah. Tell her from me, that she shall be my daughter, instead of my poor Betsey!——And shed a tear in remembrance of her lost daughter.
Lord M. What say you, Sir, to this?
Lovel. CONTENT, my Lord, I speak in the language of your house.
Lord M. We are not to be fooled, Nephew. No quibbling. We will have no slur put upon us.
Lovel. You shall not. And yet, I did not intend to marry, if she exceeded the appointed Thursday. But, I think (according to her own notions) that I have injured her beyond reparation, although I were to make her the best of husbands; as I am resolved to be, if she will condescend, as I will call it, to have me. And be this, Cousin Charlotte, my part of your commission to say.
This pleased them all.
Lord M. Give me thy hand, Bob!—Thou talkest like a man of honour at last. I hope we may depend upon what thou sayest!
The Ladies eyes put the same question to me.
Lovel. You may, my Lord—You may, Ladies—absolutely you may.