Eliz. Say another word, and we will call it downright affectation.
Kath. No! we will be affronted, drop a courtesy, and ask pardon for our presumption in expecting that Mr. —— would waste his sense on two insignificant girls.
Fri. Well, well, I will be serious. Hem! Now then commences the discourse; Mr. Moore's song being the text. Love, as distinguished from Friendship, on the one hand, and from the passion that too often usurps its name, on the other—
Lucius (Eliza's brother, who had just joined the trio, in a whisper to the Friend). But is not Love the union of both?
Fri. (aside to Lucius). He never loved who thinks so.
Eliz. Brother, we don't want you. There! Mrs. H. cannot arrange the flower vase without you. Thank you, Mrs. Hartman.
Luc. I'll have my revenge! I know what I will say!
Eliz. Off! Off! Now, dear Sir,—Love, you were saying—
Fri. Hush! Preaching, you mean, Eliza.
Eliz. (impatiently). Pshaw!