CIBBER. No, sir, it is gallantry; an exercise that died before you were born. Madam, shall I have the honour of kissing one of the fair hands that made that most favoured of puddings?
MABEL. Oh, my Lord, you may, because you are so old; but I don’t say so for a young gentleman, unless it was Ernest himself, and he doesn’t ask me.
[Cibber, Snarl, and Soaper go up.]
VANE (angrily). My dear Mabel, pray remember we are not at Willoughby.
CLIVE. Now, bear, where’s your paw? (going up R.)
QUIN. All I regret is, that I go without having helped Mrs. Vane to buttered toast.
CLIVE. Poor Quin, first to quit his bottle half finished, and now, to leave the run of the table for a walk in the garden!
[Exeunt U. E. R.
VANE. Let me shew you to your apartment (rings bell, leads her to door R.).
[Enter Servant L. H.]