COUNT. My dear baron,—if every man, who deserves to have a charge such as this brought against him, was not permitted to look up—it is a doubt whom we might not meet crawling on all fours. [_he accidently taps the Baron’s shoulder._] BARON. [_starts—recollects himself—then in a faultering voice_]. Yet—nevertheless—the act is so atrocious— COUNT. But nothing new. BARON. [_faintly_]. Yes—I hope—I hope it is new. COUNT. What, did you never meet with such a thing before? BARON. [_agitated_]. If I have—I pronounced the man who so offended—a villain. COUNT. You are singularly scrupulous. I question if the man thought himself so. BARON. Yes he did. COUNT. How do you know? BARON. [_hesitating_]. I have heard him say so. COUNT. But he ate, drank, and slept, I suppose? BARON. [_confused_]. Perhaps he did. COUNT. And was merry with his friends; and his friends as fond of him as ever? BARON. Perhaps [_confused_]—perhaps they were. COUNT. And perhaps he now and then took upon him to lecture young men for their gallantries? BARON. Perhaps he did. COUNT. Why, then, after all, Baron, your villain is a mighty good, prudent, honest fellow; and I have no objection to your giving me that name. BARON. But do you not think of some atonement to the unfortunate girl? COUNT. Did _your_ villain atone? BARON. No: when his reason was matured, he wished to make some recompense; but his endeavours were too late. COUNT. I will follow his example, and wait till my reason is matured, before I think myself competent to determine what to do. BARON. And till that time I defer your marriage with my daughter. COUNT. Would you delay her happiness so long? Why, my dear Baron, considering the fashionable life I lead, it may be ten years before my judgment arrives to its necessary standard. BARON. I have the head-ach, Count—These tidings have discomposed, disordered me—I beg your absence for a few minutes. COUNT. I obey—And let me assure you, my Lord, that, although, from the extreme delicacy of your honour, you have ever through life shuddered at seduction; yet, there are constitutions, and there are circumstances, in which it can be palliated. BARON. Never [_violently_]. COUNT. Not in a grave, serious, reflecting man such as _you_, I grant. But in a gay, lively, inconsiderate, flimsy, frivolous coxcomb, such as myself, it is excusable: for me to keep my word to a woman, would be deceit: ’tis not expected of me. It is in my character to break oaths in love; as it is in your nature, my Lord, never to have spoken any thing but wisdom and truth. [_Exit_ BARON. Could I have thought a creature so insignificant as that, had power to excite sensations such as I feel at present! I am, indeed, worse than he is, as much as the crimes of a man exceed those of an idiot. _Enter_ AMELIA. AMELIA. I heard the Count leave you, my Lord, and so I am come to enquire——