Enter Penelope.
Pen. Well, my dear——
Bet. How civilly people of quality hate one another. [Aside.
Pen. Well, my dear, were not you strangely surprised to see that this young Bookwit should be the soldier we met this morning?
Vict. The confident lying creature! Indeed, I wondered you'd suffer him to entertain you so long.
Pen. You must know, madam, he's married too at Oxford.
Vict. The ugly wretch! I think him downright disagreeable.—But perhaps this is a fetch of hers; he had no married look. [Aside.
Pen. Yet I am resolved to go to your assignation, if it be but to confront the coxcomb, and laugh at his lie. Such fellows should be made to know themselves, and that they're understood.
Vict. I'll wait upon you, my dear.—She's very prettily dressed. [Aside.]—But indeed, my dear, you shan't go with your hood so; it makes you look abominably, with your head so forward. There—[Displacing her head]; that's something. You had a fearful, silly blushing look; now you command all hearts.
Pen. Thank you, my dear.