Sir Loft. Why, I dont know how it is—nobody, hears us? (Looking round.) I dont know how it is, but she does not seem to comprehend perfectly in what light I am regarded by the world; that is to say, by that part of it which deserves to be called so.
Op. No! that is strange enough.
Sir Loft. Upon my honour, she treats me with as much careless familiarity as if I were some plain neighbour's son in the country.
Op. 'Pon honour, this is very strange.
Sir Loft. I am not without hopes of succeeding; but I will confess to you, I wish she would change her manner of behaving to me. On the word of a gentleman, it is shocking! Suppose you were to give her a hint of the consequence I am honoured with in the fashionable circles, that she may just have an idea of the respect which is paid by every well-bred person—You understand me, Opal?
Op. O! perfectly. I shall give her to know that men like us, my dear friend, are accustomed to be looked upon as a class of superiour beings.
Sir Loft. (not quite satisfied.) I dont know—Suppose you were to leave out all mention of yourself—Your own merit could not fail to be inferred.
Op. Well, I shall do so.
Sir Loft. Let us go the garden.[Exeunt.
Enter Miss Eston, speaking as she enters.
