_Court._ There she is! If I can but disengage her from that fool Flutter--crown me, ye Schemers, with immortal wreaths. _Lady Fran._ O my dear Sir George! I rejoice to meet you--an old Conjuror has been frightening me with his Prophecies.--Where's Mrs. Racket? _Court._ In the dancing-room.--I promis'd to send you to her, Mr. Flutter. _Flut._ Ah! she wants me to dance. With all my heart. [_Exit._ _Lady Fran._ Why do you keep on your mask?--'tis too warm. _Court._ 'Tis very warm--I want air--let us go. _Lady Fran._ You seem quite agitated.----Sha'n't we bid our company adieu? _Court._ No, no;--there's no time for forms. I'll just give directions to the carriage, and be with you in a moment. (_Going, steps back._) Put on your mask; I have a particular reason for it. [_Exit._ Saville _advances with_ Kitty. _Sav._ Now, Kitty, you know your lesson. Lady Frances, (_takes off his mask_) let me lead you to your Husband. _Lady Fran._ Heavens! is Mr. Saville the Conjuror? Sir George is just stept to the door to give directions.--We are going home immediately. _Sav._ No, Madam, you are deceiv'd: Sir George is this way. _Lady Fran._ This is astonishing! _Sav._ Be not alarm'd: you have escap'd a snare, and shall be in safety in a moment. [_Exit_ Saville _and Lady_ Frances. _Enter_ Courtall, _and seizes_ Kitty's _Hand_. _Court._ Now! _Kitty._ 'Tis pity to go so soon. _Court._ Perhaps I may bring you back, my Angel----but go now, you must. [_Exit._] [_Music._] Doricourt _and_ Letitia _come forward_. _Dor._ By Heavens! I never was charm'd till now.--English beauty--French vivacity--wit--elegance. Your name, my Angel!--tell me your name, though you persist in concealing your face. _Let._ My name has a spell in it. _Dor._ I thought so; it must be _Charming_. _Let._ But if reveal'd, the charm is broke. _Dor._ I'll answer for its force. _Let._ Suppose it Harriet, or Charlotte, or Maria, or-- _Dor._ Hang Harriet, and Charlotte, and Maria--the name your Father gave ye! _Let._ That can't be worth knowing, 'tis so transient a thing. _Dor._ How, transient? _Let._ Heav'n forbid my name should be _lasting_ till I am married. _Dor._ Married! The chains of Matrimony are too heavy and vulgar for such a spirit as yours.----The flowery wreaths of Cupid are the only bands you should wear. _Let._ They are the lightest, I believe: but 'tis possible to wear those of Marriage gracefully.----Throw 'em loosely round, and twist 'em in a True-Lover's Knot for the Bosom. _Dor._ An Angel! But what will you be when a Wife? _Let._ A Woman.--If my Husband should prove a Churl, a Fool, or a Tyrant, I'd break his heart, ruin his fortune, elope with the first pretty Fellow that ask'd me--and return the contempt of the world with scorn, whilst my feelings prey'd upon my life. _Dor._ Amazing! [_Aside_] What if you lov'd him, and he were worthy of your love?