CYNT. Yes, yes, madam, I’m not so ignorant.—At least I won’t own it, to be troubled with your instructions. [Aside.]
LADY FROTH. Nay, I beg your pardon; but being derived from the Greek, I thought you might have escaped the etymology. But I’m the more amazed to find you a woman of letters and not write! Bless me! how can Mellefont believe you love him?
CYNT. Why, faith, madam, he that won’t take my word shall never have it under my hand.
LADY FROTH. I vow Mellefont’s a pretty gentleman, but methinks he wants a manner.
CYNT. A manner! What’s that, madam?
LADY FROTH. Some distinguishing quality, as, for example, the bel air or brillant of Mr. Brisk; the solemnity, yet complaisance of my lord, or something of his own that should look a little Je-ne-sais-quoish; he is too much a mediocrity, in my mind.
CYNT. He does not indeed affect either pertness or formality; for which I like him. Here he comes.
LADY FROTH. And my lord with him. Pray observe the difference.
SCENE II.
[To them] Lord Froth, Mellefont, and Brisk.