sure,—There is no oil spilt here. (Pointing to a part of the floor very near the closet door.)
Sir Loft. I see it would be disagreeable to you.
Mar. I see very well you are not inclined to condescend so far.
Sir Loft. (Kneeling directly.) Believe me, madam, the pride, the pleasure of my life, is to be devoted to the most adorable—(Mariane gives a significant cough, and Agnes and Eston burst from the closet, the door opening on the outside, comes against Sir Loftus as he kneels, and lays him sprawling on the floor.)
Ag. Est. and Mar. (Speaking together.) O Sir Loftus! poor Sir Loftus! (All coming about him, pretending to assist him to get up.)
Sir Loft. Damn their bawling! they will bring the whole family here!
Enter Mr. Withrington and Opal: Sir Loftus, mad with rage, makes a desperate effort, and gets upon his legs. Opal stands laughing at him without any ceremony, whilst he bites his lips, and draws himself up haughtily.
Mar. (to Sir Loft.) I'm afraid you have hurt yourself?
Sir Loft. (shortly) No, Ma'am.
Ag. Hav'nt you rubbed the skin off your shins, Sir Loftus?
Sir Loft. No, ma'am,
