TRIP. (aside). I have a glimmer of comprehension.
WOFF. Yes—we have had our laugh—and Mr. Vane his lesson; as for Mrs. Vane—this way, madam, and satisfy yourself.
(Mabel appears.)
MABEL. Ernest—dear Ernest!
VANE (sternly). Mabel, how came you here?
WOFF. In such very questionable company as a town rake and a profane stage-player? Mrs. Vane might have asked the same question yesterday. Why Mrs. Vane somehow fancied you had mislaid your heart in Covent Garden green-room, and that I had feloniously appropriated it: she came here in search of stolen goods—would you could rummage here, madam, and satisfy yourself if you still want proof, that I have no such thing as a heart about me—not even one of my own.
TRIP. I deny that—a better heart than Mrs. Woffington’s——
WOFF. What on earth do you know about it, man?
VANE (to Mabel). But this letter?
WOFF. Was written by me on a paper which by accident bore Mrs. Vane’s signature. The fact is, I had a wager with Sir Charles here—his diamond ring against my left-hand glove—that I could bewitch a certain country gentleman’s imagination, though his heart all the while belonged to its rightful owner, and I have won (sighs).