_F._ Yes; but that I had Was Laura’s. She having mine, stepped in between, And interchanged them. _R._ I never saw it. Bravo!—most deftly done. _F._ ’Twas touch and go. That meddling devil, Tristram, 1951 He must have told her of it. _Re-enter Laura._ _L._ The Countess, Frederick, Bids me return the portrait. You may die To look on it, she says,—here ’tis. (_Giving her own._) _F._ Be sure This is the right one. Well: she says not ill. (_Kissing it._) _L._ I tremble still. _F._ O, you did well. _L._ To-night Be in the park again—under my window— I am set to watch for you. _F._ You! _L._ Yes,—by Diana. Eleven,—I dare not stay. Farewell till then. [_Exit._ _F._ Well, there’s the end of it, Richard. 1960 _R._ Yes: and ’tis plain She never really loved you. Yet, if I am right, Here’s a new difficulty arisen. Diana, If she believes this nonsense, will no longer Be jealous for you; and I shall never manage To get you off to Milan. _F._ ’Tis worse than ever. What can we do? _R._ ’Tis best I undeceive her, And set things as they were. Her jealousy Is ground to work on; but this foolery Is bottomless. _Re-enter Flora._ _Fl._ (_to R._). Her ladyship has sent To beg you await her, sir. She hath a matter To speak of with you in private. _R._ Bear my respects 1970 Back to your mistress;—say I await her here. [_Exit Flora._ See how I prosper. Get you gone, while I Step in your shoes. _F._ Richard, do not be rash: And if you find she is cured, leave well alone. _R._ Trust me: in serving you I serve myself. [_Exit F._ Diana hath not been honestly in love. If ’twere the virtual Frederick she adored She could not so mistake him. ’Tis but fancy, Which jealousy hath magnified to passion: And now she eyes him as the fox the grapes, 1980 And rather than be crossed, she’ll be persuaded That he’s an idiot. That’s not honest love,— Fanciful consolations are the comfort Of fancied passion,—love needs better food. _Re-enter Diana._ _D._ How now, Ricardo? I have not done laughing yet. What of my ingenious secretary? I think ’Tis well I trapped him: we might else have searched For a lady long enough. _R._ You are satisfied By this discovery? _D._ Clearly; all is explained. I came to tell you the campaign is over. 1990 Finding there’s nought to seek, the search is ended. The wonder is, Tristram had solved the mystery, And told me; but I laughed. _R._ Now you believe? _D._ Ha! ha! _R._ How you must now despise him! _D._ I do, indeed.