WOFF. Love him! I hate him, and her, and all the world!
TRIP. You will break with him then?
WOFF. Break with him! No! I will feed his passion to the full—tempt him—torture him—play with him, as the angler plays the fish upon his hook! He shall rue the hour he trifled with a heart and brain like mine!
TRIP. But his poor wife?
WOFF. His wife! and are wives’ hearts the only hearts that throb, and feel, and break? His wife must take care of herself, it is not from me that mercy can come to her.
TRIP. But madam—(a knock at door). Who’s this at such a moment (he goes to the window)! ’Tis a lady! Eh! cloaked and hooded. Who can she be? Perhaps a sitter! My new profession has transpired!
[A tap at room-door. Enter a slatternly servant, who hands a paper.]
SERV. From a lady who waits below.
TRIP. (reads and drops the paper). “Mabel Vane!”