MISS HARD. As most professed admirers do. Said some civil things of my face: talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; mentioned his heart; gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture. SIR CHARLES. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward, canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I am confident he never sat for the picture. MISS HARD. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half-an-hour, will place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person. SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. _Exit._ MISS HARD. And if you don't find him what I describe—I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. _Exeunt._ _Scene changes to the back of the garden._ _Enter_ HASTINGS. HAST. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my Constance. _Enter_ TONY, _booted and spattered_. HAST. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship. TONY. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach. HAST. But how? Where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in safety! Are they housed? TONY. Five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbet me, but I'd rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such _varment_. HAST. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience. TONY. Left them? Why where should I leave them but where I found them. HAST. This is a riddle. TONY. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round the house and never touches the house? HAST. I'm still astray. TONY. Why that's it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo, there's not a pond or slough within five miles of the place, but they can tell the taste of. HAST. Ha, ha, ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them home again. TONY. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of Up-and-down Hill—I then introduced them to the gibbet, on Heavy-tree Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden. HAST. But no accident, I hope.