MISS NEVILLE. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake till it was
too late to undeceive you.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. My mistress desires you’ll get ready immediately, madam. The
horses are putting to. Your hat and things are in the next room. We
are to go thirty miles before morning. [Exit Servant.]
MISS NEVILLE. Well, well: I’ll come presently.
MARLOW. (To HASTINGS.) Was it well done, sir, to assist in rendering
me ridiculous? To hang me out for the scorn of all my acquaintance?
Depend upon it, sir, I shall expect an explanation.
HASTINGS. Was it well done, sir, if you’re upon that subject, to
deliver what I entrusted to yourself, to the care of another sir?
MISS NEVILLE. Mr. Hastings! Mr. Marlow! Why will you increase my
distress by this groundless dispute? I implore, I entreat you----
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is impatient. [Exit
Servant.]
MISS NEVILLE. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave you thus, I
shall die with apprehension.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The horses are waiting.
MISS NEVILLE. O, Mr. Marlow! if you knew what a scene of constraint
and ill-nature lies before me, I’m sure it would convert your
resentment into pity.
MARLOW. I’m so distracted with a variety of passions, that I don’t
know what I do. Forgive me, madam. George, forgive me. You know my
hasty temper, and should not exasperate it.
HASTINGS. The torture of my situation is my only excuse.
MISS NEVILLE. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have that esteem for me
that I think, that I am sure you have, your constancy for three years
will but increase the happiness of our future connexion. If----
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (Within.) Miss Neville. Constance, why Constance, I
say.
MISS NEVILLE. I’m coming. Well, constancy, remember, constancy is the
word. [Exit.]
HASTINGS. My heart! how can I support this? To be so near happiness,
and such happiness!
MARLOW. (To Tony.) You see now, young gentleman, the effects of your
folly. What might be amusement to you, is here disappointment, and
even distress.
TONY. (From a reverie.) Ecod, I have hit it. It’s here. Your
hands. Yours and yours, my poor Sulky!--My boots there, ho!--Meet me
two hours hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don’t find Tony
Lumpkin a more good-natured fellow than you thought for, I’ll give you
leave to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come
along. My boots, ho! [Exeunt.]