LOFTY. Confess it sir! Torture itself, sir, shall never bring me to confess it. Mr. Honeywood, I have admitted you upon terms of friendship. Don't let us fall out; make me happy, and let this be buried in oblivion. You know I hate ostentation; you know I do. Come come, Honeywood, you know I always loved to be a friend, and not a patron. I beg this may make no kind of distance between us. Come, come, you and I must be more familiar—indeed we must. HONEYW. Heavens! Can I ever repay such friendship? Is there any way? Thou best of men, can I ever return the obligation? LOFTY. A bagatelle, a mere bagatelle. But I see your heart is labouring to be grateful. You shall be grateful. It would be cruel to disappoint you. HONEYW. How! teach me the manner. Is there any way? LOFTY. From this moment you're mine. Yes, my friend you shall know it—I'm in love. HONEYW. And can I assist you? LOFTY. Nobody so well. HONEYW. In what manner? I'm all impatience. LOFTY. You shall make love for me. HONEYW. And to whom shall I speak in your favour? LOFTY. To a lady with whom you have great interest, I assure you—Miss Richland. HONEYW. Miss Richland! LOFTY. Yes, Miss Richland. She has struck the blow up to the hilt in my bosom, by Jupiter. HONEYW. Heavens was ever anything more unfortunate? It is too much to be endured. LOFTY. Unfortunate indeed! and yet I can endure it, till you have opened the affair to her for me. Between ourselves, I think she likes me; I'm not apt to boast, but I think she does. HONEYW. Indeed! but you know the person you apply to? LOFTY. Yes, I know you are her friend, and mine: that's enough. To you, therefore, I commit the success of my passion. I'll say no more, let friendship do the rest. I have only to add, that if at any time my little interest can be of service—but, hang it, I'll make no promises—you know my interest is yours at any time. No apologies, my friend; I'll not be answered; it shall be so. [_Exit._ HONEYW. Open, generous, unsuspecting man! He little thinks that I love her too; and with such an ardent passion!—But then it was ever but a vain and hopeless one; my torment, my persecution! What shall I do? Love, friendship, a hopeless passion, a deserving friend! Love that has been my tormentor; a friend, that has, perhaps, distressed himself to serve me. It shall be so. Yes, I will discard the fondling hope from my bosom, and exert all my influence in his favour. And yet to see her in the possession of another!—Insupportable. But then to betray a generous, trusting friend!—Worse, worse. Yes, I'm resolved. Let me but be the instrument of their happiness, and then quit a country, where I must for ever despair of finding my own. [_Exit._ [Illustration: OLIVIA.—"_O, Jarvis, are you come at last?_"—_p._ 302. ] _Enter_ OLIVIA _and_ GARNET, _who carries a milliner's box_.