‘This looks like the real gentleman, I must say,’ cried Mr. Rathbone, who was thunderstruck with surprise.
‘Oh, the villain!—the base deceiver!—the impostor!’ shrieked Mrs. Nettleship, clenching her hands, and regarding the valet as if she would annihilate him. ‘I’ll tear his eyes out! To deceive and expose me in this way—to—to—to—oh! I shall never survive it. Support me!’ she added, falling into the arms of the fair Thomasine.
‘This is really too bad of you, sir,’ said Mr. Cripps, who began to recover himself a little. ‘You’ve deceived me. I thought you were at Newmarket.’
‘I received information of your practices, rascal,’ replied the beau, ‘and resolving to see to what extent you carried them, I only went to a short distance from town, and then returned with Sir Bulkeley Price, with whom I have remained till now. And a pretty discovery I’ve made, i’faith! My house filled with company—my servants turned into your servants—a dinner, supper, confectionery, wine, fruit, musicians, and the devil knows what, ordered at my expense.’
‘Well, they’re not thrown away, sir,’ replied Mr. Cripps.
‘You can marry the lady yourself, if you think proper. I’ve no doubt she’ll consent to the exchange, and she has fifty thousand pounds.’
‘Oh, the impudence!’ exclaimed Mrs. Nettleship, jumping up.
‘I’ll not be taken in a second time. I’ll be revenged on all the sex!’
‘You are not aware, Mr. Willars, of the extensive frauds this rascal has practised upon you,’ said Mr. Rathbone. ‘He has actually signed a bond for five thousand pounds in your name, which I have in my pocket.’
‘The devil he has!’ exclaimed Villiers.