lieve indeed he sets down every turn of your eye in his memory, and acts it all over in secret.
Ag. Do you think so? give me your hand, my dear Mariane, you are a very good cousin to me—Marks every turn of mine eye! I am not quite such an ordinary girl as my uncle says—My complexion is as good as your own, Mariane, if it were not a little sun-burnt. (Mariane smiles.) Yes, smile at my vanity as you please, for what makes me vain, makes me so good humoured too, that I will forgive you. But here comes uncle. (Skipping as she goes to meet him.) O! I am light as an air-ball! (Enter Mr Withrington.) My dear sir, how long you have been away from us this morning! I am delighted to see you so pleased and so happy.
With. (with a very sour face.) You are mistaken, young lady, I am not so pleased as you think.
Ag. O no, sir! you are very good humoured. Is'nt he, Mariane?
With. But I say I am in very bad humour. Get along with your foolery!
Ag. Is it really so? Let me look in your face, uncle? To be sure your brows are a little knit, and your eyes a little gloomy, but poo! that is nothing to be called bad humour; if I could not contrive to look crabbeder than all this comes to, I would never pretend to be ill humoured in my life. (Mariane and Agnes take him by the hands and begin to play with him.)
With. No, no, young ladies, I am not in a