MISS RICH. I fear, sir, I shall never find whom you mean, by this description of him. HONEYW. Ah, madam, it but too plainly points him out; though he should be too humble himself to urge his pretensions, or you too modest to understand them. MISS RICH. Well; it would be affectation any longer to pretend ignorance; and, I will own, sir, I have long been prejudiced in his favour. It was but natural to wish to make his heart mine, as he seemed himself ignorant of its value. HONEYW. I see she always loved him (_aside_). I find, madam, you're already sensible of his worth, his passion. How happy is my friend, to be the favourite of one with such sense to distinguish merit, and such beauty to reward it! MISS RICH. Your friend, sir! What friend? HONEYW. My best friend—my friend Mr. Lofty, madam. MISS RICH. He, sir! HONEYW. Yes, he, madam. He is, indeed, what your warmest wishes might have formed him. And to his other qualities, he adds that of the most passionate regard for you. MISS RICH. Amazement!—No more of this, I beg you, sir. HONEYW. I see your confusion, madam, and know how to interpret it. And since I so plainly read the language of your heart, shall I make my friend happy, by communicating your sentiments? MISS RICH. By no means. HONEYW. Excuse me; I must—I know you desire it. MISS RICH. Mr. Honeywood, let me tell you, that you wrong my sentiments and yourself. When I first applied to your friendship, I expected advice and assistance; but now, sir, I see that it is vain to expect happiness from him who has been so bad an economist of his own; and that I must disclaim his friendship who ceases to be a friend to himself. [_Exit._ HONEYW. How is this? she has confessed she loved him, and yet she seemed to part in displeasure. Can I have done anything to reproach myself with? No, I believe not; yet, after all, these things should not be done by a third person; I should have spared her confusion. My friendship carried me a little too far. _Enter_ CROAKER, _with the letter in his hand, and_ MRS. CROAKER. MRS. CROAKER. Ha, ha, ha! And so my dear, it's your supreme wish that I should be quite wretched upon this occasion? Ha, ha! CROAKER (_mimicking_). Ha, ha, ha! and so, my dear, it's your supreme pleasure to give me no better consolation? MRS. CROAKER. Positively, my dear, what is this incendiary stuff and trumpery to me? Our house may travel through the air like the house of Loretto, for aught I care, if I'm to be miserable in it. CROAKER. Would to heaven it were converted into a house of correction for your benefit! Have we not everything to alarm us? Perhaps, this very moment the tragedy is beginning. MRS. CROAKER. Then let us reserve our distress till the rising of the curtain, or give them the money they want, and have done with them. CROAKER. Give them my money!—and pray what right have they to my money?