Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here he comes to put you out of your ifs, I warrant him.

Enter MARLOW.

Mar. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion.

Hard. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too gravely. An hour or two's laughing with my daughter will set all to rights again. She'll never like you the worse for it.

Mar. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation. Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me.

Mar. Really, sir, I have not that happiness.

Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and know what's what, as well as you that are younger. I know what has past between you; but mum.

Mar. Sure, sir, nothing has past between us but the most profound respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on hers. You don't think, sir, that my impu. dence has been past upon all the rest of the family?

Hard. Impudence! No, I don't say that—not quite impudence-though girls like to be played with, and rumpled a little too, sometimes. But she has told no tales, I assure you.

Mar. I never gave her the slightest cause.

Hard. Well, well; I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is over acting, young gentleman. You may be open. Your father and I will like you the

better for it.

Mar. May I die, sir, if I ever

Hard. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like her

Mar. Dear, sir-I protest, sir

Hard. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the parson can tie you.

Mar. But hear me, sir

Hard. Your father approves the match, I admire it→→→ every moment's delay will be doing mischief; so

Mar. But why won't you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting.

Hard. [Aside.] This fellow's formal modest impudence is beyond bearing.

Sir Char. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations?

Mar. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you'll exact no farther proofs of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many mortifications.

[Exit.

Sir Char. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he parted.

Hard. And I'm astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his assurance.

Sir Char. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.

Hard. Here comes my daughter; and I would stake. my happiness upon her veracity.

Enter Miss HARDCASTLE.

Hard. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely and without reserve; has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?

Miss Hard. The question is very abrupt, sir!

But

since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has. Hard. [To Sir Charles.] You see.

Sir Char. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one interview?

Miss Hard. Yes, sir, several.

Hard. [To Sir Charles.] You see.

Sir Char. But did he profess any attachment?

Miss Hard. A lasting one.

Sir Char. Did he talk of love?

Miss Hard. Much, sir.

Sir Char. Amazing! And all this formally?

Miss Hard. Formally.

Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied.
Sir Char. And how did he behave, madam?

Miss Hard. As most profest admirers do. Said some civil things of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture.

Sir Char. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indee I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward canting ranting manner by no means describes him; and, I am confident, he never sat for the picture.

Miss Hard. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that

screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person.

Sir Char. Agreed! And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Exit. Miss Hard. And if you don't find him what I describe -I fear my happiness must never have a beginning.

Scene changes to the back of a Garden.

Enter HASTINGS.

[Exeunt.

He ne

Hast. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. ver intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see! It is he! and perhaps with news of my Constance.

Enter TONY, booted and spattered.

Hast. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship.

Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by night, by the by, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.

Hast. But how? Where did you leave your fellowtravellers? are they in safety? are they housed?

Tony. Five and twenty miles in two hours and a-half, is no such bad driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it: rabbit me, but I'd rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such varment.

Hast. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience.

Tony. Left them? Why, where should I leave them, but where I found them.

Hast. This is a riddle

Tony. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round the house, and never touches the house?

Hast. I'm still astray.

I have led them astray.

Tony. Why that's it, mon. By jingo, there's not a pond or a slough within five miles of the place but they can tell the taste of.

Hast. Ha! ha! ha! I understand; you took them in-a round, while they supposed themselves going forward, and so you have at last brought them home again.

Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down Featherbed-lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of Up-and-down HillI then introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden.

Hast. But no accident, I hope.

Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks herself forty miles off.

journey, and the cattle can scarce crawl.

She's sick of the

So if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow you.

Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?

Tony. Ay, now its dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn your way of fighting, I say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be friends. But if you had run me through the guts, then I should be dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.

Hast. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young one. [Exit Hastings.