MILLA. The town has found it? What has it found? That Mirabell loves me is no more a secret than it is a secret that you discovered it to my aunt, or than the reason why you discovered it is a secret.
MRS. MAR. You are nettled.
MILLA. You’re mistaken. Ridiculous!
MRS. MAR. Indeed, my dear, you’ll tear another fan, if you don’t mitigate those violent airs.
MILLA. O silly! Ha, ha, ha! I could laugh immoderately. Poor Mirabell! His constancy to me has quite destroyed his complaisance for all the world beside. I swear I never enjoined it him to be so coy. If I had the vanity to think he would obey me, I would command him to show more gallantry: ’tis hardly well-bred to be so particular on one hand and so insensible on the other. But I despair to prevail, and so let him follow his own way. Ha, ha, ha! Pardon me, dear creature, I must laugh; ha, ha, ha! Though I grant you ’tis a little barbarous; ha, ha, ha!
MRS. MAR. What pity ’tis so much fine raillery, and delivered with so significant gesture, should be so unhappily directed to miscarry.
MILLA. Heh? Dear creature, I ask your pardon. I swear I did not mind you.
MRS. MAR. Mr. Mirabell and you both may think it a thing impossible, when I shall tell him by telling you—
MILLA. Oh dear, what? For it is the same thing, if I hear it. Ha, ha, ha!
MRS. MAR. That I detest him, hate him, madam.