Lett. Ay, ay, madam, 'tis so. I had a sweetheart once, a lady's butler, to whom I gave a lock of my hair, and the villain, when we quarrelled, told me half of them were grey.
Pen. Ha! ha! ha! the ingrate—the faithless, as Lovemore says.
Lett. And yet, madam, the rogue stole a letter out of a book to ask me for it, as my next suitor found out.
Pen. However, I am sure 'tis in my fate to be subject to one of them very suddenly.
Lett. Ah! madam! the gentleman this morning——
Pen. The fellow's very well, and I am mightily mistaken if my cousin Victoria did not think so.
Lett. And so do you heartily. [Aside.
Pen. Yet I wish I had seen this young Bookwit before Lovemore came to-day.
Lett.[59] I'll tell you how, madam. Victoria has ne'er a lover, and is your entire friend. Now, madam, suppose you got her to write a letter to this young gentleman in her own name. You meet him under that name incognito; then, if an accident should happen, both you and she will be safe, and puzzle the truth: you never writ to him, she never met him.