MABEL. An actor too!
TRIP. And it was in a farce of my own too, madam, which was damned—accidentally.
MABEL. And a play-writer?
TRIP. Plays, madam! I have written a library of them; but the madmen who manage the patent houses won’t act them and make their fortunes. You see in me a dramatic gold mine, lost because no company will work me.
MABEL. Yes, yes; but tell me! this actress:—Mr. Vane admires her?
TRIP. Mr. Vane is a gentleman of taste, madam.
MABEL. And she was to have been here? There were none but persons of quality—Ah! the news of my intended arrival—no doubt—well Mr.——
TRIP. Triplet, madam! James Triplet, 10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth: occasional verses, odes, epithalamia, elegies, dedications, translations, and every species of literary composition executed with spirit, punctuality, and secrecy. Portraits painted, and lessons given in declamation and the dramatic art. The card, madam, (presents card) of him, who, to all these qualifications adds a prouder still—that of being your humble, devoted, and truly grateful servant—James Triplet (bows and moves off,—returns). The fact is, madam, it may appear strange to you, but a kind hand has not so often been held out to me, that I should forget it, especially when that hand is so fair and gracious as yours. May I be permitted, madam? (puts her hand to his lips,) you will impute it to gratitude rather than audacity—madam, I am gone—I flatter myself James Triplet, throughout this charming interview, has conducted himself like what he may not appear to be—a gentleman.—Madam, I take my final leave.
[Exit 3 E. L.