Gasp. Marry now, my malapert lady! How comes it you are found abroad at these wild hours?
Ros. I have always important motives for my conduct. A strange female waits at the castle-gate, who clamors for admittance; she seems in deep distress, refuses to accept denial or excuse, and demands to speak with the person of first consequence in the family. Now, Mr. Gaspard, as you happen to be steward—
Gasp. (rises pompously) I am of course the personage required. You say a female?
Ros. Yes; she waits for you in heavy trouble at the gate.
Gasp. I fly. Gallantry invites, and I obey the call. Good Mr. L’Eclair, I cast myself upon your courtesy for this abrupt departure:
’Tis woman tempts from friendship, war, and wine—
My fault is human—my excuse divine! Exit.
Ros. In sooth, the old gentleman has not forgotten his manners in his cups; but as to you, sir, (to L’Eclair) how stupidly you sit—have you nothing to say for yourself?
L’Ec. (rising and reeling towards her). Much, very much—love—midnight—all snug and private.
Ros. Mercy O me! the wretch is certainly intoxicated; how wickedly his eyes begin to twinkle. Why, Scapegrace, I’m sure you’re not sober.