Fanny—I hardly think it will, although I love you both.
Servant—(Knocks.)
Fanny—Busy! (Servant goes down stairs.)
Bennett—Which do you love best—me or Wyckoff?
Fanny—I love you the best, dear Mr. Bennett. Most people call Wyckoff the handsomest, but I think you are the prettiest man I ever saw. Your voice is so sweet, and your complexion so fair, and your features so Grecian, and your smile so lovely, and your heart so kind, and your figure so commanding, and your eyes so expressive of a large humanity. O, Mr. Bennett, I most dearly love you, and now I desire to know if you love me, and how much? And before you tell me, there’s another luscious kiss on your fragrant lips. And now, dear friend, do tell me how much you love your grateful and affectionate Fanny?
Bennett—O, I love you most ardently, and I have a mind to give Wyckoff a touch of the Italian, and marry you, and hide ourselves in some deep mountain glen of my beloved Scotland.
Fanny—O, if you would only do all that.
Bennett—What! kill Wyckoff, and marry you, and desert my devoted wife and child?
Fanny—To be sure. Did you not say you would?
Bennett—O Heaven! Fanny! I am very nervous. Your extraordinary fascinations will ruin me, and I must fly.