Har. [aside, turning from DORIMANT]. My love springs with my blood into my face, I dare not look upon him yet.

Dor. What have we here, the picture of celebrated beauty giving audience in public to a declared lover?

Har. Play the dying fop and make the piece complete, sir.

Dor. What think you if the hint were well improved—the whole mystery of making love pleasantly designed and wrought in a suit of hangings?

Har. ’Twere needless to execute fools in effigy who suffer daily in their own persons.

Dor. [aside to Emilia]. Mrs. Bride, for such I know this happy day has made you.

Emil. Defer the formal joy you are to give me and mind your business with her. [Aloud.] Here are dreadful preparations, Mr. Dorimant, writings sealing, and a parson sent for.

Dor. To marry this lady?

Busy. Condemned she is, and what will become of her I know not, without you generously engage in a rescue.

Dor. In this sad condition, madam, I can do no less than offer you my service.

Har. The obligation is not great; you are the common sanctuary for all young women who run from their relations.

Dor. I have always my arms open to receive the distressed. But I will open my heart, and receive you where none yet did ever enter: you have filled it with a secret, might I but let you know it—

Har. Do not speak it if you would have me believe it; your tongue is so famed for falsehood ’twill do the truth an injury.

[Turns away her head

Dor. Turn not away then; but look on me and guess it.

Har. Did you not tell me there was no credit to be given to faces? that women nowadays have their passions as much at will as they have their complexions, and put on joy and sadness, scorn and kindness, with the same ease they do their paint and patches—Are they the only counterfeits?

Dor. You wrong your own while you suspect my eyes; by all the hope I have in you, the inimitable colour in your cheeks is not more free from art than are the sighs I offer.

Har. In men who have been long hardened in sin we have reason to mistrust the first signs of repentance.

Dor. The prospect of such a heaven will make me persevere and give you marks that are infallible.

Har. What are those?

Dor. I will renounce all the joys I have in friendship and in wine, sacrifice to you all the interest I have in other women—

Har. Hold!—though I wish you devout I would not have you turn fanatic—Could you neglect these awhile and make a journey into the country?

Dor. To be with you I could live there and never send one thought to London.