Part 7 (1/2)

[In a flash Quin has re-filled his gla.s.s with wine.

PANTALOON. You are ruined!

EGLANTINE. So it seems. Rose-water for my hands, Quin.

PANTALOON. This is Sir Jeffrey Rake's revenge. It's said that he has wooed Lady Clarissa while you won her from him.

EGLANTINE. At fifteen thousand! Cheap, then, you'll admit at the price.

PANTALOON. A cheap lady, no doubt, my lord, at any price.

EGLANTINE. You know her?

PANTALOON. Her reputation only.

EGLANTINE. There's her portrait behind me. I can't turn my head. Quin, bring me my mirror.

[Mr. Talon studies the brilliant lady rather doubtfully.

PANTALOON. I trust she loves your lords.h.i.+p?

EGLANTINE. Gad's life! I never asked her. A monstrous unfair thing to ask of any woman of the world.

PANTALOON. Doubtless she is grateful for the sacrifice you make.

EGLANTINE. I hope not.

[Quin now has the mirror placed so that Eglantine can view his bride-to-be. It reflects other matters of importance, too.

Ah ... is that the new wig on the block? Vastly good! Quin here, Mr. Talon, has a magical touch at dressing a head. Gad, but the wig block looks as lively as I do. The mirror reflects her ladys.h.i.+p's portrait very well.

PANTALOON. You love her, my lord?

[At this moment and at that word Harlequin waves his wand--it is a comb as it happens--and next we hear Columbine begin again to sing.

EGLANTINE. Love, Mr. Talon, is a most unmodish thing. It may be called...!

That girl is singing again!

HARLEQUIN. She knows no better, my lord. Shall I stop her?

EGLANTINE. No. But hand me my epigrams upon love. They slip my memory. It's a pretty song. [The tablets are before him. He glances over them.] Now, let's see. Love is a ... [But he is caught by the song.] Artless as a bird!

Love ... [That fine epigram seems out of place beside the song.] When a woman loves you, she ... [But while that girl is singing, he simply cannot read the foolish words.] That might be the oldest song in the world!

HARLEQUIN. It is, my lord.

EGLANTINE. [Gives back the tablets with the wryest smile.] Take them, put them in the fire. As epigrams well enough, Mr. Talon; but perhaps the simple truth is, that I do not love her ladys.h.i.+p.

[And the song ceases.

HARLEQUIN. Pardon me, my lord; once more the bell!