ERAS. How so?
MAR. I have walked ten miles to look for you, and give you my word
that...
ERAS. What?
MAR. That you were neither at church, in the fashionable walk, at home,
nor in the market-place.
GR.-RE. You may swear to that.
ERAS. But pray, tell me who sent you?
MAR. One, in good truth, who bears you no great ill-will; in a word, my
mistress.
ERAS. Ah! dear Marinette, do your words really express what she feels?
Do not hide some ominous secret from me. I should not dislike you for
this. For Heaven's sake tell me if your charming mistress does not
merely pretend to love me?
MAR. Ha! ha! ha! What has put that funny notion into your head? Does she
not sufficiently show her inclination? What further security does your
love demand? What does it require?
GR.-RE. Unless Valere hangs himself, or some such trifle, he will not be
reassured.
MAR. How so?
GR.-RE. He is so very jealous.
MAR. Of Valere? Ha! a pretty fancy indeed! It could only be hatched in
your brain. I thought you a man of sense, and until now had a good
opinion of your intellect; but I see I was very much deceived. Have you
also got a touch of this distemper in your head?
GR.-RE. I jealous? Heaven forbid! and keep me from being so silly as to
go and make myself lean with any such grief.
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