Enter Mrs. Caution.
Mrs. Caut. What's all this giggling here?
Mons. Hey! do you tinke we'll tell you? no, fait, I warrant you, tête non!—ha! ha! ha!—
Hip. My cousin is overjoyed, I suppose, that my father is to come to-night.
Mrs. Caut. I am afraid he will not come to-night:—but you'll stay and see, nephew?
Mons. Non, non: I am to sup at t'other end of the town to-night—La, la, la—Ra, ra, ra—[Exit, singing.
Mrs. Caut. I wish the French levity of this young man may agree with your father's Spanish gravity.
Hip. Just as your crabbed old age and my youth agree.
Mrs. Caut. Well, malapert, I know you hate me, because I have been the guardian of your reputation: but your husband may thank me one day.
Hip. If he be not a fool, he would rather be obliged to me for my virtue than to you, since, at long run, he must, whether he will or no.