PANTALOON. No, no, Sir George, we've settled the Port, but there's still the Madeira. [Harlequin waves. And the empty is empty again. But the full one is empty, too. CLOWN. Oh, Joey, Joey, we've settled them both. [There they stand, all three, grouped as we know them so well. ALICE. Look, oh, look! There's the Harlequinade! PANTALOON. I must go. [And he goes. EGLANTINE. [From within.] Quin! HARLEQUIN. My lord. [And he vanishes. EGLANTINE. And now for your story, George, if while I dress, it will carry through a door. [The scene you cannot see is, of course, of tremendous importa A Beau dressing for his wedding! It couldn't be done upon the stage because no audience roughly coming in from their dinner ridiculously dressed in black clawhammer coats could appreciate the niceties of the toilette of a Beau, so far, so very far removed from the uncultured vulgarities of the Nut. They say that even the very silk-worms who span to make him silk for his coats are set aside from the silk-worms who spin silk for persons of grosser habit. And every flower embroidered on his coat is perfumed with its proper scent. And a girl has gone blind through making the filmy froth of lace about his throat. CLOWN. It's carrying round London by this time. You know Sir Jeffrey Rake? EGLANTINE. I think so. CLOWN. Yes, don't you. You lost enough to him last night. EGLANTINE. I did. CLOWN. He's been this year past, it seems, sweethearting ... and a bit more ... with a famous lady of fashion here in town. But he'd not a penny, and she'd ten thousand pounds of debts. So marry they couldn't till she hit on a plan. EGLANTINE. Indeed? CLOWN. A fine lady's plan. She was to cozen some wealthy fop and swear to marry him if he'd pay those debts of hers. D'you mark that? EGLANTINE. I mark it. CLOWN. There's more to come. The night before the wedding was to be ... last night as ever was ... if Sir Jeffrey didn't win at cards a cool fifteen thousand from the same poor fool. And this very morning, off have the precious couple gone! Married by this, begad they are; he with his pockets lined, she free of her Jews. It'll be all over town in an hour. And the fool fop is dressing for his wedding! Now did ever you hear the like of that? [There is silence in the other room. I say, did ever you hear the like of that? Is your master there, Quin? HARLEQUIN. [Who is passing in and out.] To some extent he is, Sir George. CLOWN. Gad, let me think a minute ... though the wine's in my head. What sum did you lose to Sir Jeffrey last night? Your bride's name was Clarissa.... I heard it. And Clarissa Mordaunt's the name of that fine lady. Odds, Bobs and Buttons! You're not the fool fop, Eglantine, are you?