It'll be all over town in an hour. And
the fool fop is dressing for his wedding! Now did ever you hear the like of
that?
[There is silence in the other room.
I say, did ever you hear the like of that? Is your master there, Quin?
HARLEQUIN. [Who is passing in and out.] To some extent he is, Sir George.
CLOWN. Gad, let me think a minute ... though the wine's in my head.
What sum did you lose to Sir Jeffrey last night? Your bride's name was
Clarissa.... I heard it. And Clarissa Mordaunt's the name of that fine
lady. Odds, Bobs and Buttons! You're not the fool fop, Eglantine, are you?
[Is it Eglantine who enters? There stands something for a moment
a dead thing dressed in a bridegroom's splendour. It is as if some
ice-cold hand had plucked at his heart. Yet he is calm; the poise
remains true, the subtle artifice is there. But the crushing blow to
his pride is in his pale face, and his voice rings bitterly when he
says:
EGLANTINE. I was.
CLOWN. I'm sorry. I might have guessed.
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