them) And she has sent home my petticoat all patch'd over with scraps of gold foil, like a may-day dress for a chimney-sweeper.
Sir Loft. (Thrusting in his face near Mariane, and endeavouring to be attended to.) A very good comparison, ha, ha!
Op. (Thrusting in his face at the other side of her.) Very good indeed, ha, ha, ha!
Mar. (Still speaking to Agnes, who winks at her without attending to them.) I'll say nothing about it but never employ her again.
Sir Loft, (going round to her other ear, and making another attempt.) I am delighted, Miss Withrington.
Mar. (carelessly.) Are you, Sir Loftus? (To Agnes.) I have broken my fan, pray put it by with your own, my dear Agnes! (Exit Agnes into the adjoining room, and Sir Loftus gives Opal a significant look, upon which he retires to the bottom of the stage, and, after sauntering a little there, Exit.)
Sir Loft. (Seeming a little piqued.) If you would have done me the honour to hear me, Ma'am, I should have said, I am delighted to see you dress'd, as I hope I may presume from it, you intend going to the ball to-night.
Mar. Indeed I am too capricious to know whether I do or not; do you think it will be pleasant?
Sir Loft. Very pleasant, if the devotions of a thousand admirers can make it so.
Mar. O! the devotions of a thousand admirers,