Milla. I am content to be a sacrifice to your repose, madam; and to convince you that I had no hand in the plot, as you were misinformed, I have laid my commands on Mirabell to come in person, and be a witness that I give my hand to this flower of knighthood; and for the contract that passed between Mirabell and me, I have obliged him to make a resignation of it in your ladiship’s presence;—he is without, and waits your leave for admittance.

Lady. Well, I’ll swear I am something revived at this testimony of your obedience; but I cannot admit that traitor,—I fear I cannot fortifie myself to support his appearance. He is as terrible to me as a Gorgon; if I see him I fear I shall turn to stone, petrifie incessantly.

Milla. If you disoblige him he may resent your refusal, and insist upon the contract still. Then ’tis the last time he will be offensive to you.

Lady. Are you sure it will be the last time?—If I were sure of that—shall I never see him again?

Milla. Sir Wilfull, you and he are to travel together, are you not?

Sir Wil. ’Sheart, the gentleman’s a civil gentleman, aunt, let him come in; why, we are sworn brothers and fellow-travellers. —We are to be Pylades and Orestes, he and I—he is to be my interpreter in foreign parts. He has been over-seas once already; and with proviso that I marry my cousin, will cross ’em once again, only to bear me company.—’Sheart, I’ll call him in,—an I set on’t once, he shall come in; and see who’ll hinder him.

[Goes to the door and hems.

Mrs. Mar. This is precious fooling, if it would pass; but I’ll know the bottom of it.

Lady. O dear Marwood, you are not going?

Mar. Not far, madam; I’ll return immediately.

SCENE IX

Lady Wishfort, Millamant, Sir Wilfull, Mirabell.

Sir Wil. Look up, man, I’ll stand by you, ’sbud, an she do frown, she can’t kill you;—besides—harkee, she dare not frown desperately, because her face is none of her own; ’sheart, and she should her forehead would wrinkle like the coat of a cream-cheese; but mum for that, fellow-traveller.

Mira. If a deep sense of the many injuries I have offered to so good a lady, with a sincere remorse, and a hearty contrition, can but obtain the least glance of compassion, I am too happy —Ah, madam, there was a time—but let it be forgotten—I confess I have deservedly forfeited the high place I once held, of sighing at your feet; nay, kill me not, by turning from me in disdain—I come not to plead for favour;—nay, not for pardon; I am a suppliant only for pity—I am going where I never shall behold you more—

Sir Wil. How, fellow-traveller!—You shall go by yourself then.

Mira. Let me be pitied first; and afterwards forgotten—I ask no more.

Sir Wil. By’r Lady, a very reasonable request, and will cost you nothing, aunt.—Come, come, forgive and forget, aunt, why you must an you are a Christian.

Mira. Consider, madam, in reality, you could not receive much prejudice; it was an innocent device; though I confess it had a face of guiltiness, it was at most an artifice which love contrived—and errors which love produces have ever been accounted venial. At least think it is punishment enough, that I have lost