HAST. But in the company of women of reputation, I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look, for all the world, as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room. MARL. Why, man, that's because I _do_ want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty; but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence. HAST. If you could but say half the fine things to them that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker— MARL. Why, George, I can't say fine things to them. They freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle: but to me, a modest woman, dressed out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation. HAST. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry? MARL. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad-star question, of—_madam, will you marry me?_ No, no; that's a strain much above me, I assure you. HAST. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father? MARL. As I behave to all other ladies: bow very low; answer yes, or no, to all her demands—But for the rest, I don' think I shall venture to look in her face till I see my father's again. HAST. I am surprised that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover. MARL. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down, was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you, the family don't know you, as my friend you are a sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest. HAST. My dear Marlow!—But I'll suppress the emotion. Were I a wretch, meanly seeking to carry off a fortune, you should be the last man in the world I would apply to for assistance. But Miss Neville's person is all I ask; and that is mine, both from her deceased father's consent, and her own inclination. MARL. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I am doomed to adore the sex, and yet to converse with the only part of it I despise. This stammer in my address, and this awkward prepossessing visage of mine, can never permit me to soar above the reach of a milliner's prentice, or one of the duchesses of Drury-lane.—Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us. _Enter_ HARDCASTLE.