_Sir W._ I don’t mean, my good Gilbert, to press you to say any thing that you don’t choose to say. It was not from idle curiosity that I asked any questions, but from a sincere desire to serve you in whatever way you like best, Gilbert. _Gilb._ Oh, dear master! I can’t speak, you are so good to me, and always was--too good!--so I say nothing. Only I’m not ungrateful--I know I’m not ungrateful, that I am not! And as to the rest, there’s not a thought I have, you’d condescend for to know, but you should know it as soon as my mother--that’s to say, as soon as ever I knowed it myself. But, sir, the thing is this, since you’re so good to let me speak to you, sir-- _Sir W._ Speak on, pray, my good fellow. _Gilb._ Then, sir, the thing is this. There’s one girl, they say, has set her thoughts upon me: now I don’t like she, because why? I loves another; but I should not choose to say so, on account of its not being over and above civil, and on account of my not knowing yet for sartin whether or not the girl I loves loves me, being I never yet could bring myself to ask her the question. I’d rather not mention her name neither, till I be more at a sartinty. But since you be so kind, sir, if you be so good to give me till this evening, sir, as I have now, with the hopes of the new inn, an independency to offer her, I will take courage, and I shall have her answer soon, sir--and I will let you know with many thanks, sir, whether--whether my heart’s broke or not. [_Exit GILBERT hastily._ _Sir W._ (_alone_) Good, affectionate creature! But who would have thought that out of that piece of wood a lover could be made? This is Cupid’s delight! [_Exit Sir WILLIAM._ SCENE II. _Parlour of the Inn at Bannow._ _Miss FLORINDA GALLAGHER, sola._ _Various articles of dress on the floor--a looking-glass propped up on a chest--Miss GALLAGHER is kneeling before the glass, dressing her long hair, which hangs over her shoulders._ _Miss G._ I don’t know what’s come to this glass, that it is not flattering at all _the_ day. The spots and cracks in it is making me look so full of freckles and crow’s feet--and my hair, too, that’s such a figure, as straight and as stiff and as stubborn as a presbyterian. See! it won’t curl for me: so it is in the papillotes it must be; and that’s most genteel. [_Sound of a drum at a distance--Miss GALLAGHER starts up and listens._