[Sees him.
Miss B. Is that your son, sir?
Sir Abel. [Abashed.] Yes, that's Bob!
Miss B. Pray, sir, is he making lace, or is he making love?
Sir Abel. Curse me if I can tell. [Hits him with his stick.] Get up, you dog! don't you see Miss Blandford?
Handy, jun. [Starting up.] Zounds! how unlucky! Ma'am, your most obedient servant. [Endeavours to hide the work.] Curse the cushion!
[Throws it off.
Dame. Oh! he has spoiled my lace!
Handy, jun. Hush! I'll make you a thousand yards another time—You see, ma'am, I was explaining to this good woman—what—what need not be explained again—Admirably handsome, by Heaven!
[Aside.