Miss B. Dear father! I came the moment I heard you wished to see me.
Sir Philip. My good child, thou art the sole support that props my feeble life. I fear my wish for thy company deprives thee of much pleasure.
Miss B. Oh no! what pleasure can be equal to that of giving you happiness? Am I not rewarded in seeing your eyes beam with pleasure on me?
Sir Philip. 'Tis the pale reflection of the lustre I see sparkling there.—But, tell me, did your lover gain the prize?
Miss B. Yes, papa.
Sir Philip. Few men of his rank—
Miss B. Oh! you mean Mr. Handy?
Sir Philip. Yes.
Miss B. No; he did not.
Sir Philip. Then, whom did you mean?