Sir Philip. Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with.
Henry. I will not. Oh! forgive me.
Sir Philip. Yes, on one condition—leave me.—Ah! some one approaches. Begone, I insist—I entreat.
Henry. That word has charmed me! I obey: Sir Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect, me. [Exit.
Enter Handy, jun.
Handy, jun. At last, thank Heaven, I have found somebody. But, Sir Philip, were you indulging in soliloquy?—You seem agitated.
Sir Philip. No, sir; rather indisposed.
Handy, jun. Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to find you. Compared with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you above once a-week.
Sir Philip. I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host.
Handy, jun. Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do—I soon get heartily sick of his company—whatever he may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me.