Re-enter Indiana, speaking to a Servant.
Ind. Desire Mr. Bevil to walk in—Design! impossible! A base designing mind could never think of what he hourly puts in practice. And yet, since the late rumour of his marriage, he seems more reserved than formerly—he sends in too, before he sees me, to know if I am at leisure—such new respects may cover coldness in the heart; it certainly makes me thoughtful—I'll know the worst at once; I'll lay such fair occasions in his way, that it shall be impossible to avoid an explanation, for these doubts are insupportable!—But see, he comes, and clears them all.
Enter Bevil.
Bev. Madam, your most obedient—I am afraid I broke in upon your rest last night; 'twas very late before we parted, but 'twas your own fault. I never saw you in such agreeable humour.
Ind. I am extremely glad we were both pleased; for I thought I never saw you better company.
Bev. Me, madam! you rally; I said very little.
Ind. But I am afraid you heard me say a great deal; and, when a woman is in the talking vein, the most agreeable thing a man can do, you know, is to have patience to hear her.
Bev. Then it's pity, madam, you should ever be silent, that we might be always agreeable to one another.
Ind. If I had your talent or power, to make my actions speak for me, I might indeed be silent, and you pretend to something more than the agreeable.
Bev. If I might be vain of anything in my power, madam, 'tis that my understanding, from all your sex, has marked you out as the most deserving object of my esteem.