Cam. At your service, mademoiselle.
Mad. I fear I incur de censure [Pulling out the letter, and recollecting as loth to deliver it], but Mr. Terim being your intimate friend, and I designing to honour him in de way of an husband—so—so—how do I run away in discourse—I never make promise to Mr. Terim before, and now to do it par accident——
Cam. Dear Will Trim is extremely obliging in having prevailed upon you to do a thing that the severity of your virtue, and the greatness of your quality (though a stranger in the country you now honour by your dwelling in it) would not let you otherwise condescend to——
Mad. Oh, monsieur! oh, monsieur! you speak my very thoughts. Oh! I don't know how, pardon me, to give a billet—it so look! O fie! I can no stay after it. [Drops it, runs affectedly to the other end of the room, then quite out; re-enters.] I beg ten tousand pardons for go away to mal-propos. [Curtsies as going.
Ld. H. Your servant, good madam. Mr. Trim, you know you command here. Pray, if Madam d'Epingle will honour our cottage with longer stay, wait on her in and entertain her. Pray, sir, be free.
Trim. My lord, you know your power over me; I'm all complaisance. [Leads her out.
Cam. Now to my dear epistle—
"Sir,
"There is one thing which you were too generous to touch upon in our last conversation. We have reason to fear the Widow's practices in relation to our fortunes, if you are not too quick for her. I ask Lady Sharlot whether this is not her sense to Lord Hardy. She says nothing, but lets me write on. These people always have, and will have, admittance everywhere, therefore we may hear from you.
"I am, sir,
"Your most obedient servant,
"Harriot Lovely."
My obedient servant! Thy obedience shall ever be as voluntary as now—ten thousand thousand kisses on thee, thou dear paper. Look you, my lord, what a pretty hand it is?