DOROTHY. Thank God, you are deceived: he will not fight. He promised me that; thank God, I have his promise for that. ANTHONY. Promise! Do you see this? (_producing necklace_) the thing he bribed your maid with? I shall dash it in his teeth before the Duke and before all Tunbridge. Promise, you poor fool? what promise holds against a blow? Get to your knees and pray for him; for, by the God above, if he has any blood in his body, one of us shall die before to-night. (_He goes out._) DOROTHY. Anthony, Anthony!... O my God, George will kill him. (MUSIC: "Che faro" as the drop falls.) MUSICAL INDUCTION: "Gavotte," _Iphigenie en Aulide_, GLUCK ACT IV _The Stage represents the Pantiles: the alleys fronting the spectators in parallel lines. At the back, a stand of musicians, from which the "Gavotte" is repeated on muted strings. The music continues nearly through Scene I. Visitors walking to and fro beneath the limes. A seat in front, L._ SCENE I _MISS FOSTER, BARBARA, MENTEITH; Visitors_ MISS FOSTER (_entering; escorted by MENTEITH, and followed by BARBARA_). And so, Menteith, here you are once more. And vastly pleased I am to see you, my good fellow, not only for your own sake, but because you harbinger the Beau. (_Sits, L., MENTEITH standing over her._) MENTEITH. Honoured madam, I have had the pleasure to serve Mr. George for more than thirty years. This is a privilege--a very great privilege. I have beheld him in the first societies, moving among the first rank of personages; and none, madam, none outshone him. BARBARA. I assure you, madam, when Mr. Menteith took me to the play, he talked so much of Mr. Austin that I couldn't hear a word of Mr. Kean. MISS FOSTER. Well, well, and very right. That was the old school of service, Barbara, which you would do well to imitate.--This is a child, Menteith, that I am trying to form. MENTEITH. Quite so, madam. MISS FOSTER. And are we soon to see our princely guest, Menteith? MENTEITH. His Royal Highness, madam? I believe I may say quite so. Mr. George will receive our gallant prince upon the Pantiles (_looking at his watch_) in, I should say, a matter of twelve minutes from now. Such, madam, is Mr. George's order of the day. BARBARA. I beg your pardon, madam, I am sure, but are we really to see one of His Majesty's own brothers? That will be pure! O madam, this is better than Carlisle. MISS FOSTER. The wood-note wild: a loyal Cumbrian, Menteith. MENTEITH. Eh? Quite so, madam. MISS FOSTER. When she has seen as much of the Royal Family as you, my good fellow, she will find it vastly less entertaining. MENTEITH. Yes, madam, indeed; in these distinguished circles life is but a slavery. None of the best set would relish Tunbridge without Mr. George; Tunbridge and Mr. George (if you'll excuse my plainness, madam) are in a manner of speaking identified; and indeed it was the Dook's desire alone that brought us here. BARBARA. What? the Duke? O dear! was it for that?