_Tom._ The poor fool is so tender, and loves to hear me talk of the world, and the plays, operas, and ridottos[120] for the winter, the parks and Belsize[121] for our summer diversions; and "Lard!" says she, "you are so wild, but you have a world of humour." _Humph._ Coxcomb! Well, but why don't you run with your master's letter to Mrs. Lucinda, as he ordered you? _Tom._ Because Mrs. Lucinda is not so easily come at as you think for. _Humph._ Not easily come at? Why, sirrah, are not her father and my old master agreed that she and Mr. Bevil are to be one flesh before to-morrow morning? _Tom._ It's no matter for that; her mother, it seems, Mrs. Sealand, has not agreed to it; and you must know, Mr. Humphry, that in that family the grey mare is the better horse. _Humph._ What dost thou mean? _Tom._ In one word, Mrs. Sealand pretends to have a will of her own, and has provided a relation of hers, a stiff, starched philosopher, and a wise fool, for her daughter; for which reason, for these ten days past, she has suffered no message nor letter from my master to come near her. _Humph._ And where had you this intelligence? _Tom._ From a foolish fond soul that can keep nothing from me; one that will deliver this letter too, if she is rightly managed. _Humph._ What! her pretty handmaid, Mrs. Phillis? _Tom._ Even she, sir; this is the very hour, you know, she usually comes hither, under a pretence of a visit to your housekeeper, forsooth, but in reality to have a glance at---- _Humph._ Your sweet face, I warrant you. _Tom._ Nothing else in nature; you must know, I love to fret and play with the little wanton. _Humph._ Play with the little wanton! What will this world come to! _Tom._ I met her this morning in a new manteau and petticoat, not a bit the worse for her lady's wearing; and she has always new thoughts and new airs with new clothes--then she never fails to steal some glance or gesture from every visitant at their house; and is, indeed, the whole town of coquets at second-hand. But here she comes; in one motion she speaks and describes herself better than all the words in the world can. _Humph._ Then I hope, dear sir, when your own affair is over, you will be so good as to mind your master's with her. _Tom._ Dear Humphry, you know my master is my friend, and those are people I never forget. _Humph._ Sauciness itself! but I'll leave you to do your best for him. [_Exit._ _Enter_ PHILLIS.[122] _Phil._ Oh, Mr. Thomas, is Mrs. Sugar-key at home? Lard, one is almost ashamed to pass along the streets! The town is quite empty, and nobody of fashion left in it; and the ordinary people do so stare to see anything, dressed like a woman of condition, as it were on the same floor with them, pass by. Alas! alas! it is a sad thing to walk. O fortune! fortune! _Tom._ What! a sad thing to walk? Why, Madam Phillis, do you wish yourself lame?