Vict. I swear he's a very pretty fellow, and how readily the thing talks! I begin to pity Lovemore, but I begin to hate Penelope. How he looks! he looks at her!
Y. Book.[46] But judge, madam, what the condition of a passionate man must be, that can approach the hand only of her he dies for, when her heart is inaccessible.
Pen. 'Tis very well the heart lies not so easily to be seized as the hand—I find——Pray, sir—I don't know what there is in this very odd fellow: I'm not angry, though he's downright rude—but I must——
Y. Book. But your heart, madam, your heart—[Pressingly.
Pen. You seemed, sir, I must confess, to have shown a ready civility when I'd like to fall just now, for which I could not but thank you, and permit you to say what you pleased on that occasion—"But your heart, madam!" 'tis a sure sign, sir, you know not me; or, if you are what indeed you seem—a gentleman—sure you forget yourself, or rather you talk, by memory, a form or cant which you mistake for something that's gallant.
Y. Book. Madam, I very humbly beg your pardon, if I pressed too far and too abruptly. I forgot, indeed, that I broke through decencies, and that though you have been long a familiar to me, I am a stranger to you.
Pen. Pray, familiar stranger, what can you mean? I never saw you before this instant, nor you me, I believe.
Y. Book.[47] Perhaps not, that you know of, madam, for your humility, it seems, makes you so little sensible of your own perfection, that you overlook your conquest; nor have you e'er observed me, though I hover day and night about your lodging, haunt you from place to place, at balls, in the park, at church. I gave you all the serenades you've had, yet never till this minute could I find you, and this minute an unfortunate one—But this is always my luck when I'm out of the field.
Vict. You've travelled then, and seen the wars, sir?