MIRA. Oh, raillery, raillery! Come, I know thou art in the women’s secrets. What, you’re a cabalist; I know you stayed at Millamant’s last night after I went. Was there any mention made of my uncle or me? Tell me; if thou hadst but good nature equal to thy wit, Petulant, Tony Witwoud, who is now thy competitor in fame, would show as dim by thee as a dead whiting’s eye by a pearl of orient; he would no more be seen by thee than Mercury is by the sun: come, I’m sure thou wo’t tell me. PET. If I do, will you grant me common sense, then, for the future? MIRA. Faith, I’ll do what I can for thee, and I’ll pray that heav’n may grant it thee in the meantime. PET. Well, harkee. FAIN. Petulant and you both will find Mirabell as warm a rival as a lover. WIT. Pshaw, pshaw, that she laughs at Petulant is plain. And for my part, but that it is almost a fashion to admire her, I should—harkee—to tell you a secret, but let it go no further between friends, I shall never break my heart for her. FAIN. How? WIT. She’s handsome; but she’s a sort of an uncertain woman. FAIN. I thought you had died for her. WIT. Umh—no— FAIN. She has wit. WIT. ’Tis what she will hardly allow anybody else. Now, demme, I should hate that, if she were as handsome as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her as he thinks for. FAIN. Why do you think so? WIT. We stayed pretty late there last night, and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately come to town, and is between him and the best part of his estate. Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my Lady Wishfort has been told; and you know she hates Mirabell worse than a quaker hates a parrot, or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has seen Mrs. Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embryo; and if it should come to life, poor Mirabell would be in some sort unfortunately fobbed, i’faith. FAIN. ’Tis impossible Millamant should hearken to it. WIT. Faith, my dear, I can’t tell; she’s a woman and a kind of a humorist. MIRA. And this is the sum of what you could collect last night? PET. The quintessence. Maybe Witwoud knows more; he stayed longer. Besides, they never mind him; they say anything before him. MIRA. I thought you had been the greatest favourite. PET. Ay, tête-à-tête; but not in public, because I make remarks. MIRA. You do? PET. Ay, ay, pox, I’m malicious, man. Now he’s soft, you know, they are not in awe of him. The fellow’s well bred, he’s what you call a—what d’ye-call-’em—a fine gentleman, but he’s silly withal. MIRA. I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall? FAIN. Ay, I’ll take a turn before dinner. WIT. Ay, we’ll all walk in the park; the ladies talked of being there. MIRA. I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother Sir Wilfull’s arrival.