THE WAY OF THE WORLD

SCENE I.—A Chocolate-house

Mirabell and Fainall [rising from Cards], Betty waiting

Mira. You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall.

Fain. Have we done?

Mira. What you please. I’ll play on to entertain you.

Fain. No, I’ll give you your revenge another time, when you are not so indifferent; you are thinking of something else now, and play too negligently; the coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure of the winner. I’d no more play with a man that slighted his ill fortune, than I’d make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of her reputation.

Mira. You have a taste extreamly delicate, and are for refining on your pleasures.

Fain. Prithee, why so reserved? Something has put you out of humour.

Mira. Not at all: I happen to be grave to-day; and you are gay; that’s all.

Fain. Confess, Millamant and you quarrelled last night, after I left you; my fair cousin has some humours that would tempt the patience of a Stoick. What, some coxcomb came in, and was well received by her, while you were by.

Mira. Witwoud and Petulant; and what was worse, her aunt, your wife’s mother, my evil genius; or to sum up all in her own name, my old Lady Wishfort came in—

Fain. O there it is then—she has a lasting passion for you, and with reason.—What, then my wife was there?

Mira. Yes, and Mrs. Marwood and three or four more, whom I never saw before; seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, whispered one another, then complained aloud of the vapours, and after fell into a profound silence.

Fain. They had a mind to be rid of you.

Mira. For which reason I resolved not to stir. At last the good old lady broke through her painful taciturnity, with an invective against long visits. I would not have understood her, but Millamant joining in the argument, I rose and with a constrained smile told her I thought nothing was so easie as to know when a visit began to be troublesome; she redened and I withdrew, without expecting her reply.

Fain. You were to blame to resent what she spoke only in compliance with her aunt.

Mira. She is more mistress of herself, than to be under the necessity of such a resignation.

Fain. What? though half her fortune depends upon her marrying with my lady’s approbation?

Mira. I was then in such a humour, that I should have been better pleased if she had been less discreet.