Pen. A lucky thought—step to her immediately. I'll come to her, or she to me.
Lett. I fly, I fly. [Exit.
Pen. This is, indeed, a lucky hint of the wench, in which I have another drift, too. Now shall I sift my friend Victoria, and perfectly understand whether she likes that agreeable young fellow; for if her reserved humour easily falls in with this design on Bookwit, she's certainly smitten with the other, and suspects me to be so too—What is this dear, this sudden intruder, love, that Victoria's long and faithful friendship, Lovemore's anxious and constant passion, both vanish before it in a moment? Why are our hearts so accessible at our eyes?—My dear——
Enter Victoria and Lettice.
Vict. Dear Pen, I ran to you. Well, what is it?
Pen. Set chairs, and the bohea tea, and leave us. [Exit Lett.] Dear Victoria, you have always been my most intimate bosom friend; your wary carriage and circumspection have often been a safety against errors to me—I must confess it. [Filling her tea.
Vict. But, my dear, why this preface to me? To the matter—
Pen. You know all that has passed between me and Mr. Lovemore.
Vict. I have always approved him, and do now more than ever; for 'tis not a mien and air that makes that worthy creature, a kind husband; but——