THE BELLE'S   STRATAGEM,

In this Comedy, my goal was to create a Woman Character who possesses vibrant sensitivity, sharp understanding, and refined skills, while also combining an enticing sense of reserve and delicacy that, while concealing her charms, makes them even more captivating. As I worked on this character, I naturally dedicated her to Your Majesty; all that was left was to ask for permission to present it to you. Your Majesty graciously granting me this great honor is what I had hoped for and is a reward I can take pride in without any hesitation.

With the best wishes for your Majesty's continued happiness,

and most dedicated Servant,

H. Cowley.

Lincoln's Inn!—Well, where do I find him now that I'm at Lincoln's Inn?—Where did he say his boss was?

Serv. He just mentioned it in Lincoln's Inn, Sir.

Sav. That's nice! And your wisdom never asked whose place?

Serv. Sir, you talked to the servant yourself.

Sav. If I was too impatient to ask questions, you should have figured it out, idiot!

Ha, Courtall!—Tell him to keep the horses moving, and then check all the rooms around.

[Leave, maid.

What on earth brings you to this part of town? Do you have any of the Long Robes, pretty wives, sisters, or chambermaids?

Court. Maybe they have;—but I came for a different reason; and if your luck had brought you here half an hour earlier, I would have given you quite a show, ha! ha! ha!

Sav. I'm sorry I missed it: what was it?

Court. A few days ago, I was told that my cousins, the Fallows, had come to town and really wanted to see me at their place in Warwick Court, Holborn. I hurried over, imagining them as perfect beauties the whole way there. They had traveled from the farthest part of Northumberland, had never been in the city before, and naturally, they were full of rustic charm, innocence, and beauty.

Sav. Wow!

Court. After waiting for thirty minutes, during which there was a lot of commotion, five young women burst in, four of them tall and slender;—the fifth, in a bit of a twist, was like a character from Aesop’s fables. They all started talking at once, like dogs catching a new scent:—"Oh, cousin Courtall!—How are you, cousin Courtall! Oh my, cousin, I’m so glad you’re here! We want you to join us at the Park, and the Plays, and the Opera, and Almack's, and all the hot spots!"Please provide the text you would like me to modernize. I thought to myself, no way am I going with you all, but I bravely stuck around for an hour and found out that the girls had all come to the city hoping to escape it—Wives:—their minds full of Knight-Baronights, fashionably foolish men, and wild adventures.

Sav. So, how did you manage to get out?

Court. Oh, I had a ton of things to do.Understood! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.But my conscience nagged at me, so I had breakfast with them this morning, and then I took them to the gardens here since it’s the most secluded spot in town; and then I said a sad goodbye, lamenting my tough luck that forced me to leave right away for Dorsetshire, ha! ha! ha!

Sav. Congrats on your escape!—Courtall at Almack's, with five awkward country cousins! Ha! Ha! Ha!—Honestly, your life as a Man of Gallantry could never have handled that.

Court. Death and fire! Have they come to town, like the country folk of the past, to check out Paul's, the Lions, and the Waxwork—open for business;—but today’s cousins arrive as Ladies—and, armed with the knowledge they get from magazines and guidebooks, as Fine Ladies; they laugh at the shyness of their grandmothers and confidently ask for their entrées into the best circles.

Sav. Where on earth is this guy!—Come on, give me some updates—I’ve been battling woodcocks and partridges for the past two months and have no idea what’s been happening outside of their territory.

Court. Oh! that's enough for three newspapers. The women are planning to petition for a law that, during the war, every man should be allowed two wives.

Sav. It's impossible for them to succeed, because most members of both Houses understand what it's like to have one.

Court. Gallantry was rejected at the Coterie last Thursday, and Prudence and Chastity voted in.

Sav. Yeah, that might stay true until the camps break up. But do you have any elopements? Any divorces?

Court. Divorces are completely off the table, and the Commons-Doctors are struggling; so they are publishing trials of Crim. Con. with all the individual evidence included, which they find has a remarkable impact on their business, with cases flooding in afterwards, like mackerel at Gravesend.

Sav. What else?

Court. Nothing—for weddings, deaths, and politics, I never mention, except when my hair is getting done. But tell me, Saville, how did you end up in town while all the proper folks are having fun at Coxheath, and the countryside is filled with hares and foxes?

Sav. I came to see my friend Doricourt, who you know just got back from Rome.

Court. He's here! Yes, indeed, and he's stolen the spotlight! His carriage, his outfits, his entire style—everyone is talking about him! His first appearance sent the whole Ton into a frenzy, and his valet is swamped with requests from countless tailors, dressmakers, and all kinds of style experts, eager to satisfy their clients’ desires to dress like Doricourt. In fact, the stunning Lady Frolic, the other night, along with two Countess sisters, insisted on his waistcoat being used as muffs; and now their fair arms proudly display it around town, leaving all our Beaux Garçons heartbroken.

Sav. Indeed! Well, those little flings will soon be over; he's about to get married.

Court. Marriage! Doricourt is about to get married! That's the best news you could have shared, right after him getting hanged—Who’s the bride-to-be?

Sav. I never saw her, but she’s Miss Hardy, the wealthy heiress—the proposal was arranged by the parents, and the courtship started when they were kids; the boy used to tease the girl, and the girl used to laugh at the boy.

Court. Oh! by now, they care about each other as little as I do for my country cousins.

Sav. I don't know about that; they haven't seen each other since they were young, so they probably have some feelings for each other.

Court. Never met! Strange!

Sav. A whim of Mr. Hardy's; he believed that his daughter's charms would have a stronger impact if her lover remained unaware of them until he returned from the Continent.

Serv. Mr. Doricourt, sir, has just left Counsellor Pleadwell's about five minutes ago.

[Leave, Servant.

Serv. Five minutes! Wow! I've been five minutes too late my entire life!—Good morning, Courtall; I need to go after him. (Going.)

Court. Promise to have dinner with me today; I have some good friends. (Exiting on the other side.)

Sav. Can't promise; maybe I will.—Look over there, a group of women from Patagonia is coming our way.

Court. By the Lord, it has to be my strong cousins.—I can't look back—Run, man, run.

Exit on the same side.

Port. Tap! What sneaky devil are you? (Opens the door.)

So! I guess you are one of the Monsieur's customers too? He's upstairs right now, sorting through his Honour's things into a package of them.

Crowq. No, Sir; I want to talk to you, if that's alright.

Port. Me! So, what do you want from me?

Crowq. Sir, you should know that I am—I’m the guy who writes the Tête-à-têtes in the magazines.

Port. Oh, wow!—Are you the one who connects people through your cheap sixpenny stories that they never encounter anywhere else?

Crowq. Oh, excuse me, sir!—we usually stick to the basics; if you could share a few stories about your master, like which Marchioness he lost money to in Paris—who his favorite lady in town is—or the name of the girl he first fell in love with at college—or any stories about his grandmother or great aunts—just a couple of those would be enough for support—I’ll spin them into a tale of intrigues, losses, and romances that will fill four pages, earn me a dozen dinners, and score you, sir, a bottle of wine for your trouble.

Port. Oh, wow! I heard the butler mention you when I was staying at Lord Tinket's. But what do you mean by a bottle of wine?—You gave him a crown as a retainer.

Crowq. Oh, Sir, that was for a nobleman’s affairs; a common person’s are never complete. Well, I’ve had a Baronet’s for five shillings, even though he was married and switched his mistress every six weeks.

Port. Don't even say it! What does a Baronet or a little Lord mean, who probably has never traveled beyond having fun in London? We have traveled, my friend! My boss has been to Italy and all around Spain; he’s spoken to the Queen of France and danced with her at a masquerade. Yeah, and people like that don’t go to masquerades for no reason; but shh—let’s keep that between us—Unless you consider my boss on the same level as a Lord, I won’t spill any of his secrets, I promise you.

Crowq. Well, Sir, maybe you could share a hint or two about other families you've lived with that could be turned into something; and so, Sir, here’s one, two, three, four, five shillings.

Port. Well, that's honest, (pocketing the money.) To be honest, I don't know a lot about my master's business yet;—but here comes Monsieur and his crew: I'll ask them some questions. They've followed him all over Europe, from the Canaries to the Isle of Wight.

Tradesm. Well then, you've shown us all?

Frenchmen. Everyone, honestly, gentlemen! you have seen it all. Servant, servant.

[Tradesmen exit.]

Ah, here comes another curious Englishman, and that's another guinea for me.

Come on, sir, I’ll show you things, things you’ve never seen, I swear, in England!—velvets by Le Mosse, suits tailored by Verdue, trims by Grossette, embroidery by DetanvilleSure, please provide the text you would like me to modernize.

Puppy!—where's your owner?

Port. Wow! You talkative, frog-eating idiot, can't you see a gentleman?—It's Mr. Saville.

Frenchm. Mr. Saville! I’m scared to death.—Ten thousand apologies! Sorry for my mistake, and let me take you to Mr. Doricourt; he’ll be thrilled to see you.

[Exit Frenchman and Saville.

Port. Step down a bit;—we'll figure it out somehow!—I guess a piece of sirloin won’t make the situation any worse.

[Exit Porter and Crowquill.

Doric. (speaking to a servant behind) I'm going to be too late for St. James's; tell him to come right away.

Mr. Saville.

[Exit French guy.]

Doric. How wonderful! My dear Saville, let the warmth of this hug show how happy I am.

Sav. Well, this is a bit comforting, after the terrible welcome I got in your hall.—I braced myself, as I walked up the stairs, for a hello, a grimace, and a goodbye.

Doric. Why is that?

Sav. Judging the master by the rest of the family. What on earth does that crowd of foreigners down there mean, with their wrinkled faces and scruffy beards? What! Can't an Englishman stand behind your car, tie your shoelaces, or clean your coat?

Doric. Boring, my dear Saville, boring! Englishmen make the best soldiers, citizens, craftsmen, and philosophers in the world, but they make the absolute worst footmen. I hire French guys and Germans, just like the Romans had slaves; because their own countrymen have minds that are too broad and proud to handle the responsibilities of such a position gracefully.

Sav. A weak justification for poor behavior.

Doric. Honestly, you will see the truth of this through experience. A Frenchman doesn’t hear, see, or breathe without his master's direction; his entire way of acting can be summed up in one word: Obedience! An Englishman thinks, forms opinions, ponders, and argues; he is just a puppet of your will: the other is a being who recognizes his equal value in the grand scheme of things, and thus he judges you while wearing your uniform and decides your actions freely like a critic.

Sav. And this is in defense of a custom that I've heard you criticize, along with all the various behaviors brought in by our well-traveled elite.

Doric. Yeah, but that was when we were eighteen; we always think we know everything at eighteen. But think about this: we go to Italy, where everyone is focused on studying and getting better at Music. We get caught up in the allure and become passionate about this beautiful art. We travel through France and see the entire country creating beautiful designs and coming up with new Trends. We decide to take advantage of their creativity and adopt their styles. When we come back to England, we find the country focused on really important issues: Politics, Business, War, and all the Liberal Arts engage its people; the hidden sparks light up again inside us; the sweet distractions from the Continent gradually fade away, as Senators, Statesmen, Patriots, and Heroes emerge from the virtû of Italy and the flashy styles of France.

Sav. I might as well give up! You've always had a talent for making your faults look good, and I can't help loving you, flaws and all. So, to kick off a topic that should make you happy, when do you expect Miss Hardy?

Doric. Oh, the waiting time is over. She has arrived, and I had the honor of meeting at Pleadwell's this morning. The documents were ready, and following Mr. Hardy's instructions, we gathered to sign and seal.

Sav. Did the event meet your expectations? Did your heart race or drop when you saw your Mistress?

Doric. Honestly, she's great, just based on looks. Please provide the text for modernization. But I'm ready to help you modernize your text. Please provide the short phrases you want me to work on.

Sav. But why?

Doric. Well, she's just a pretty girl; her skin, figure, and looks; nothing else.

Sav. Isn't that enough?

Doric. No! She should have spirit! Fire! The playful air! That something, that nothing, which everyone feels, and which no one can describe, in the irresistible charms of Italy and France.

Sav. Thanks to my father's stinginess, I wasn't able to travel! I wouldn't have lost my appreciation for genuine, unpretentious English beauty to be fought over by all the beauties of Versailles and Florence.

Doric. Ugh! You have no taste. English beauty! It’s bland; it lacks excitement, it lacks depth. Frank! I’ve known a Frenchwoman, who was blessed by nature with only a decent pair of eyes, to have in her entourage as many Counts, Marquises, and Petits Maîtres as would satisfy three dozen of our top socialites. I’ve seen an Italian Marquizina make ten men fall for her just by stepping out of her carriage, and carry her admirers from one city to another, while her true beauty would have been overshadowed by half the little Grisettes strolling your Mall on a Sunday.

Sav. Does Miss Hardy not have any of this?

Doric. If she has, she was happy to keep it to herself. I was in the room for half an hour before I could see the color of her eyes; and every time I tried to get her to talk, it caused such awkwardness that I ended up having to discuss news, French fleets, and Spanish captures with her father.

Sav. So Miss Hardy, with just her beauty, modesty, and worth, is destined for a husband who will look down on her.

Doric. You're being unfair. Even though she hasn't filled me with intense emotions, my honor guarantees her happiness.

Sav. Come on, Doricourt, you know very well that when a husband's pride takes priority over his feelings, his wife has to be just as detached as he is, unless she's unhappy.

Doric. Ugh! Don’t start lecturing without your glasses. But since we’re on the sensitive topic, how did you handle Touchwood taking Lady Frances away?

Sav. You know I never looked up to her with hope, and Sir George is definitely deserving of her.

Doric. In the English style, a thinker even when it comes to love.

Sav. Come on, I’m keeping you here—you look well put together, so I guess you have plans.

Doric. To St. James's. I’m having dinner at Hardy's and will join them for the masquerade tonight. But let’s have breakfast together tomorrow, and we can chat about our old friends. I promise you, Saville, the atmosphere of the Continent hasn’t changed a single youthful bias or bond.

Sav.—Except for the case of Ladies and Servants.

Doric. True; I admit it:—but I have never met anyone I could wholeheartedly accept as a Friend who wasn't born under a British sky, and whose heart and manners weren't genuinely English.

[Exit Doricourt and Saville.

Flut. Hah, Villers, have you seen Mrs. Racket?Understood. Please provide the text for modernization.Miss Hardy is out, it seems.

Vill. I haven't seen her yet. I've taken a trip to Lapland since I arrived. (flinging away the book.) A lady at her vanity is as hard to budge as a Quaker, (yawning). What’s happened in the world since yesterday? Have you heard?

Flut. Oh, yes; I stopped by Tattersall's on my way here, and I ran into Lord James Jessamy, Sir William Wilding, and Mr.Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.. But now that I think about it, you shouldn't know a word of it; I've been told you only believe about half of what I say.

Vill. My friend, someone has really pulled a fast one on you!—Half! Honestly, I hardly believe even a tenth of what you say; that is, if we're being literal: but from what I gather, your insights are entertaining.

Flut. This is really tough now, really tough. I've never told a lie in my life, unless I slipped up by accident; and if it were different, you boring, practical people should be extremely grateful to those creative imaginations that lift us into fiction to entertain you; because honestly, the everyday happenings of this little messy world aren’t worth discussing unless you dress them up!Got it! Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.Hah! Here comes Mrs. Racket: goodbye to weeds, I guess! All life!

Enter, Madam, with all your charms! Villers has been criticizing your outfit for making us wait; but I think we owe it a lot, and so do you.

Mrs. Rack. How so, may I ask? Good morning to both of you. Here, here's a hand each for you. (They kiss her hands.)

Flut. Really! Because it has given you so many beautiful things.

Mrs. Rack. What a lovely compliment! What do you think of that, Villers?

Vill. That he and his compliments are similar—flashy, but won't stand up to scrutiny.Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.So you brought Miss Hardy to the city last night?

Mrs. Rack. Yes, I should have brought her in earlier, but I fell off my horse, which kept me down for a week.—I guess in her heart she wished I was hanged a dozen times an hour.

Flut. Why though?

Mrs. Rack. Doesn't she have a boyfriend in town all the time? She meets him this morning at the lawyer's office. I hope she can win him over; she's the sweetest girl in the world.

Vill. Vanity, like murder, will reveal itself. —You've convinced me you believe you're more charming.

Mrs. Rack. How is that possible?

Vill. No woman ever praises another unless she believes she is better in the very qualities she admires.

Flut. No man ever complains about women unless he knows he deserves their contempt.

Mrs. Rack. Thank you, Flutter—I'll owe you a bouquet for that. I'm going to visit the newly married Lady Frances Touchwood.—Who knows her husband?

Flut. Everyone.

Mrs. Rack. Is there something strange about his character?

Vill. Nothing, except that he is deeply in love with his wife;—and his love is so impatient that he opened the cage of a favorite Bullfinch and sent it to catch Butterflies because she rewarded its song with her kisses.

Mrs. Rack. Unbearable monster! Such a bully deservesSure, please provide the text for me to modernize.

Vill. No, no, no, no, this is your gender nowPlease provide the text you would like me to modernize.Give a woman just one hint of someone's character, and off she goes, like a ball from a racket; she sees the whole man, judges him as either an angel or a devil, and then shows him off to her friends. — This guy! This jerk! is one of the best guys on earth; he's got good sense and an open mind; but he loves his wife so much that he argues about everything she likes and gets jealous of her scarf and flower.

Mrs. Rack. Oh, spare me the love, dear Cupid! I see no difference between the pain of such an affection and hatred.

Flut. Oh, excuse me, what an unbelievable difference, it's just unbelievable; I see it as clearly as your bracelet. In one case, the husband would say, as Mr. Snapper said the other day, "Good heavens! Madam, do you think that my table, and my house, and my pictures!—By the way, regarding the Boots. There was the most amazing Plague of Athens sold yesterday at Langford's! The dead figures looked so real, you would have sworn they were alive! Lord Primrose bid five hundred—six, said Lady Carmine.—A thousand, said Ingot the Nabob.—Down went the hammer.—A rouleau for your bargain, said Sir Jeremy Jingle. And what do you think Ingot replied?

Mrs. Racket. Why, accepted the offer.

Flut. Sir, I would help you, but I'm buying this picture to put in the nursery: the kids already have Whittington and his Cat; it's just the right size, and they'll be great companions.

Mrs. Rack. Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, I have to say that's exactly how it is now—the rich folks and their spouses outbid everyone at every sale, and they have no sense of styleUnderstood! Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.

Vill. Here we go again! You forget this story is told by Flutter, who always remembers everything but the details and the person he's talking about:—it was Ingot who offered a roll for the deal, and Sir Jeremy Jingle who responded.

Flut. Wow, I think you’re right.—Well, the story is just as good either way, you know. Good morning. I’m heading to Mrs. Crotchet's concert, and on my way back, I’ll stop by and say hello to Sir George. (Leaving.)

Vill. I’ll bet everything on your tailor’s bill, you must have messed up somewhere.

Flut. (turning back) Done! I haven’t paid my tailor’s bill in two years; and I’ll speak as carefully as Mrs. Bridget Button, who wears cork fillers in her cheeks and never says more than six words for fear of showing them.

[Exit Flutter.]

Mrs. Rack. She's a good-natured, unimportant person! Welcomed everywhere, but not truly valued anywhere. There's Miss Hardy back from Lincoln's Inn—she seems a bit upset.

Vill. Then I’ll leave you to your messages.

Goodbye! I'm so happy to see you looking so well, Madam! But I have to pull myself away.

Let it. Don't disappear in an instant.

Vill. Oh, that’s brutal! You two are the most dangerous women in town. Staying here to be targeted by four such eyes is like facing Paul Jones or making a midnight trek to Omoa! They'll eat up the nonsense just for the compliment. (Aside.)

[Leave Villers.

Letit. (hands her cloak to her maid.) Tell Du Quesne never to come back; he definitely isn’t styling my hair anymore. [Exit Maid.] And this awful silk, it looks terrible on me!—I must have been crazy to pick it. (Throwing herself onto a sofa and looking in a pocket mirror, Mrs. Racket stares at her.) Have you ever seen such a mess as I am today?

Mrs. Rack. Yes, I've seen you look a lot worse.

Letit. How can you be so annoying? If I don’t look worse this morning than I ever have in my life, I must be a natural disaster. You can have it whichever way you want.

Mrs. Rack. Sure, whatever you want, but what’s all this about?

Letit. (rising.) Men are all liars! flatterers! deceivers! Haven't I heard a thousand times about my looks, my eyes, my figure—all made to win people over! And today, when I poured my heart into one little conquest, I’ve shown that all those supposed charms mean nothing;—because Doricourt looked at them without a hint of emotion.—A husband of fifteen months couldn't have scrutinized me with more harsh indifference.

Mrs. Rack. So you just give it back like a wife of fifteen months and act as indifferent as he does.

Letit. Yes, there’s the sting! The charming guy, who left his mark on my young heart, is now twenty-four and has refined every charm that captured me back then. It’s the same face that my memories and dreams always painted for me, but his features are more polished, and every beauty is enhanced. How humiliating it is to feel like I’m his servant, yet I'm completely indifferent to him!

Mrs. Rack. How can you be so sure that was true? Did you really think he would kneel before the lawyer, his assistants, and your dad to swear about your beauty?

Letit. No; but he should have looked like a sudden ray had struck him! He should have been breathless! Speechless! Because, oh! Caroline, all of this was me.

Mrs. Rack. I'm sorry you were such a fool. Can you expect a guy who has dated and been pursued by half the beautiful women in Europe to feel like a girl from a boarding school? He's the most charming guy you've seen, and of course, he captivates your imagination; but he's encountered a million beautiful women, dear, before he met you, and those initial feelings faded long ago.

Let it be. Your teasing upsets me; but I will reach his heart, or I will never be his wife.

Mrs. Rack. Ridiculous, and cheesy! If you have no reason to think he's taken, be content; if he's a man of integrity, you won’t have anything to be upset about.

Letit. Nothing to complain about! Oh my! Am I really going to marry the man I adore with such an expectation as that?

Mrs. Rack. And when you've worried yourself sick, my dear, you'll have improved your expectations a lot.

Let it. (pausing.) But I have one hope. If there's any force that genuinely cares about faithful love, I call on that force to help me.

Hardy. Well, now; wasn't I right? Yeah, Letty! Yeah, Cousin Racket! wasn't I right? I knew it would be like this. He was really excited to see her before he went overseas; and, if he had, he might not have thought any more of her face than his own.

Mrs. Rack. Not even close.

Hardy. Yeah, that might be true—but I understand things; just as I predicted, today he fell head over heels for that girl, ha! ha! ha!

Letit. Yeah, Sir! How did you notice it?

Hardy. That's an interesting question! How do I see everything? How did I predict the drop in grain prices and the increase in taxes? How did I know that if we had a conflict with America, Norway's goods would be more expensive? How did I foresee that a war would cause the stock market to crash? How did I warn Parson Homily that if he didn’t somehow manage to get more votes than Rubrick, he would lose the lectureship? How did IPlease provide the text you would like modernized.But what's got you so down, Letitia? I expected to see you bouncing around as lively as the keys on your harpsichord.

Letit. Surely, Sir, it’s a very serious situation.

Hardy. Pho, come on! Girls shouldn’t be serious before getting married. How did you feel, Cousin, before the wedding? Aye!

Mrs. Rack. Feel! why so very busy with worries.

Hardy. Really?

Mrs. Rack. I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about my carriage, my outfits, and my footmen; the style of clothing I should wear for the presentation stressed me out for a week; and whether I should get married in white or lilac gave me the worst anxiety.

Letit. And is it possible that you didn’t care about anything else?

Hardy. So, what kind of worries do you have, Mrs. Letitia? I can already tell that you're not too fond of Doricourt.

Let it. Yes, Sir, I haven't.

Hardy. So what's with all this sadness? Aren't you getting married? And to top it off, to a sensible guy? And even more, to a young and attractive man? So seriously, what's with all the sadness, I ask?

Mrs. Rack. Well, it's because he is good-looking and smart, and because she's completely in love with him; all of which, it seems, your previous knowledge didn't mention at all.

Let it. Come on, Caroline!

Hardy. So, what's going on? If you don't like him, forget about the signing and sealing; he won't get you. But then again, I can't say that either because you know that estate, which cost his father and me over eighty thousand pounds, will go to him if you don't want him. If he doesn't want you, then it'll all be yours. That's clear, written down on parchment, and the poor dear man signed it while he was dying. "Ah!" I said, "I can see you'll never live to see them together; but their first son will be named Jeremiah after you, I promise." Sure, please provide the text you would like me to modernize. But seriously, what's the issue? Don't you like him?

Letit. I’m worried, Sir—if I have to be honest—I’m worried I didn’t seem as appealing to Mr. Doricourt as he did to me.

Hardy. You're mistaken; I asked him, and he told me he liked you a lot. Don't you think he has a crush on her?

Mrs. Rack. Honestly, I believe that's true since I wasn't there.

Letit. My dear Sir, I’m sure he hasn’t; but if a woman has any spirit or creativity, he will.

Hardy. Alright, girl; go get ready—

Letit. It's not my appearance that can help me, but I've come up with a plan, if you won't stand in my way, that makes me feel like it will be a great success.

Hardy. Not my thing! What is it?

Let it be. Why, Sir—it might sound a bit contradictory; but since he doesn't like me enough, I want him to like me even less, and at our next meeting, I will try to turn his indifference into dislike.

Hardy. Who on earth could have predicted that?

Mrs. Rack. Oh my goodness! Letitia, are you for real?

Let it. As serious as the most important business of my life requires.

Mrs. Rack. Why try to make him dislike you?

Letit. Because it's much easier to turn a feeling into its opposite than to change indifference into deep affection.

Mrs. Rack. That might be good philosophy, but I'm afraid you'll discover it's a bad principle.

Let it be. I have complete confidence in it. I'm feeling unusually inspired, and I’m ready to risk everything for a shot at happiness. I'm eager to get started on my plans.

[Exit Letitia.]

Hardy. Can you see how this is going to end, Cousin?

Mrs. Rack. No, Sir; only your insight can make that happen, I’m sure; and I can’t stay to think about it now. I’m heading to visit the Ogles, then to Lady Frances Touchwood’s, then to an auction, and after that—I have no idea whereUnderstood! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.but I’ll be home in time to see this unusual meeting. Goodbye.

[Exit Mrs. Racket.]

Hardy. Well, it's a strange thing—I can't make sense of it—but I can see Letty will get her way, so I won't bother arguing about it.

Exit Hardy.

Married, ha! ha! ha! You, the one I heard in Paris say those things about women, are now a married man in London.

Sir Geo. The situation is still the same as it has always been since la petite morale pushed aside real virtues; and rather than give my name to one of your high-society fashionable women, I would have jumped the line in a fireboat and married a Japanese woman.

Doric. But you’ve married an English beauty, yes, and a beauty born into high society.

Sir Geo. True; but she has a genuine simplicity in her heart and manners that would have suited the beautiful Hebrew maidens praised by the Patriarchs.

Doric. Ha! ha! You're a true marriage dreamer. I swear, she'll turn into just your average city girl in six months as if she was raised for it.

Sir Geo. Common—common—(with disdain). No, Sir, Lady Frances thinks so little of high society because of the views I've shared with her, that she'll endure it like a salamander in flames.

Doric. Oh, if only the circle in the Place Victoire could see your wildness! I'll take you to St. Evreux tonight, fully drawn out and colored just like in real life.

Sir Geo. So tell him, to make it even more ridiculous, that Touchwood takes pride in being a husband; that he has discovered more beauty in one Englishwoman than Frenchmen have ever seen, and more goodness than Frenchwomen can even imagine.

Doric. Alright—enough with the descriptions. Bring me to this phoenix; I came specifically for that.

Sir Geo. Introduce!—oh, yes, of course—I think Lady Frances is busy right now—but maybe another time. The dog looks so handsome today! Aside.

Doric. Another time!—but I have no other time. Damn it! this is the only hour I can manage this fortnight!

Sir Geo. [Aside. I'm really happy to hear that, honestly.] So, you can't have dinner with us today? That's such a bummer.

Doric. Oh, yes—about dinner—yes, I think I can manage to have dinner with you today.

Sir Geo. Psh! I didn’t really think about what I was saying; I meant dinner.—Can’t you have dinner with us?

Doric. Well, supper will be more convenient than dinner. But you’re lucky—if you had asked me any other night, I wouldn’t have been able to come.

Sir Geo. Tonight!—Wow, now I remember, we have plans for tonight.—But tomorrow night—

Doric. Look here, Sir George, it’s obvious you don’t want me to see your wife at all; so here I’ll stay (throws himself on a sofa.)—There’s my hat, and here are my legs.—I won’t move until I’ve seen her; and I have no plans: I'll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you every day this week.

Sir Geo. Has there ever been such an annoying person! But to be honest with you, Doricourt, my home and I are at your service: but you’re a really charming guy, and ten years younger than I am; and the women, I notice, always smile when you show up. For these reasons, I’d prefer that when Lady Frances and I are together, you forget that we know each other beyond a nod, a smile, or a quick greeting.

Doric. Sounds good.

Sir Geo. It’s not just you that I have a problem with; if you become close with everyone here, you’ll make my house even trendier than it already is, and it’s already so trendy that my doors are practically useless. I married Lady Frances to have her all to myself; yet, thanks to the wonderful freedom of today’s social norms, her attention, thoughts, and conversations are constantly shared with all the flirts and fakes of Fashion.

Doric. I admit, that kind of freedom is taken a bit too far. It’s a shame that I can’t have a precious item in my collection without the entire town needing to admire its shine. He won’t convince me to stop seeing his wife, though. Aside.

Sir Geo. Well, that's fair. When you take a moment to think, Doricourt, I notice you always make the right choice, and so I hopeUnderstood! Please provide the text you'd like modernized.

Serv. Sir, my Lady wants

Sir Geo. I'm currently busy.

Doric. Oh, Lord, that won't be an excuse for anything in this world (jumping off the couch). Show the way, John.—I'll follow your Lady.

Exit, following the servant.

Sir Geo. What was I thinking bringing her up!—Hey, Doricourt! (Running after him.) Doricourt!

Mrs. Rack. Please let your lady know that Mrs. Racket and Miss Ogle are here.

[Exit Servant.]

Miss Ogle. I can hardly recognize Lady Frances; it's been so long since I've been in Shropshire.

Mrs. Rack. And I bet you’ve never seen her out of Shropshire.—Her dad kept her locked away with his Caterpillars and Shells, and loved her more than anything—except for a blue Butterfly and a fossilized Frog!

Miss Ogle. Ha! ha! ha!—Well, that was a cheap way to raise her:—you know he was very poor, even though he was a Lord; and very high-spirited, even though he was a Virtuoso.—In the city, her Pantheons, Operas, and fancy gowns would have overshadowed his Sea-Weeds, Moths, and Monsters in just six weeks!—Sir George, I've noticed, thinks his Wife is quite an extraordinary person: he has taught her to look down on anything resembling Fashionable Life and brags that no example will influence her.

Mrs. Rack. There's a lot of arrogance in all that—I'll try to turn her into a Fine Lady, just to put him in his place.

Miss Ogle. That's exactly what I want.

Lady Fran. I’m so sorry, my dear Mrs. Racket.—Miss Ogle, it’s great to see you: I should have come to see you sooner, but I got held up talking to Mr. Doricourt.

Mrs. Rack. Please don't apologize; I'm really glad that you're finally in town, Your Ladyship. How long will you be staying?

Lady Fran. It’s a brief one! Sir George speaks with sadness about the moments we’ve left behind; and now that the presentation ceremony is done, I believe he will be back shortly.

Miss Ogle. There's no way he can be that cruel! Do you want to go back so soon, Your Ladyship?

Lady Fran. I don't usually consider my own wishes; however, I believe that if they have a say, we won't be heading back right away. I'm just starting to get a sense of London.

Mrs. Rack. I'm going to have it out with your Lord and Master if he thinks he can take you away from us so soon. What are you up to today?

Lady Fran. Sir George is coming with me this morning to the fabric store to choose some silk; and thenUnderstood! Please provide the short piece of text you would like me to modernize.

Mrs. Rack. Pick a silk for yourself! Ha! Ha! Ha! I hope Sir George picks your laces too, along with your gloves and your pincushions!

Lady Fran. Ma'am!

Mrs. Rack. I'm happy to see you blush, dear Lady Frances. These are unusual ways! If you do these things, please keep them to yourself. Goodness! If the Town found out your husband picks your dresses!

Miss Ogle. You're very young, my Lady, and have grown up in isolation. The principles you learned among the Wood-Nymphs in Shropshire won't be accepted here, I promise you.

Mrs. Rack. Oh my dear, you look so scared!—Come on, you’re coming with us to an exhibition and an auction.—After that, we’ll take a stroll in the park, then drive to Kensington;—we’ll be home by four to get dressed, and tonight I’ll take you to Lady Brilliant’s masquerade.

Lady Fran. I would be very happy to join your group, as long as Sir George doesn't have any plans.

Mrs. Rack. What! Do you think so little of yourself that you can't trust yourself without Sir George? If you want to live like an old married couple, my dear, you should have stayed in the countryside; this is not a scene meant for London, I assure you!

Miss Ogle. I imagine, my Lady, you and Sir George will be seen strolling together around the Canal, arm in arm, and then sweetly getting into the same carriage;—having dinner tête-à-tête, spending the evening playing Picquet, and then going to bed soberly at Eleven!—Such a cozy plan might work for an attorney and his wife; but for Lady Frances Touchwood, it's as inappropriate as linsey-woolsey or a black bonnet at the Festino!

Lady Fran. These ideas are pretty new to me!—But, my dear Mrs. Racket, you and Miss Ogle must understand this stuff better than I do. As you can see, I'm still young and might have picked up some silly opinions.—Here comes Sir George!

Sir Geo. (Aside.) 'Damn it! Another packed room!

Lady Fran. My love! Mrs. Racket, and Miss Ogle.

Mrs. Rack. Congratulations, Sir George.—We’re here to borrow Lady Frances for a few hours.

Sir Geo. A couple of hours!

Lady Fran. Oh, absolutely! I’m going to an exhibition, an auction, the park, Kensington, and a million other places! It’s just silly, I think, for married couples to always be together—people will make fun of us!

Sir Geo. I'm amazed!—Mrs. Racket, what does the lovely person mean?

Mrs. Rack. Mean, Sir George!—that's what I think she means.

Miss Ogle. Well, you see, Sir, since Lady Frances grew up completely in the countryside, she can't be expected to be familiar with fashionable life.

Sir Geo. No way; I hope she doesn’t!—If she had, Madam, she would never have been my wife!

Mrs. Rack. Are you for real?

Sir Geo. Exactly.—I would never have had the guts to marry a well-bred lady.

Miss Ogle. Please, Sir, what do you think a classy lady is, that you show so much fear of her? (sneeringly.)

Sir Geo. She's someone who’s easy to describe, Madam, because you see her everywhere except at home. She sleeps at her place, but she really lives all over town. In her mind, every feeling is pushed aside for the desire to conquer and the need to stand out. The emotions of being a Wife and a Mother get lost in the chaos of socializing. If she remains virtuous, it's just by chance—and if she keeps her Husband from going off the rails, it’s only because she's good at playing cards! That's what I consider to be a perfect Fine Lady!

Mrs. Rack. And I assume you’re a cynical gossip at thirty-two. Twenty years from now, maybe that kind of criticism would be forgivable!—Now, Sir, let me share my definition of a Fine Lady:—She is someone whom Nature has blessed generously, and Education has refined even more; she possesses Taste, Elegance, Spirit, and Understanding. In her demeanor, she is casual, and in her morals, she is discerning. Her behavior is equally polite to her Husband and to everyone else;—her thoughts are meant for private moments. In short, a Fine Lady is the life of conversation, the essence of society, the delight of the public!—Joy follows her wherever she goes, and the warmest wishes accompany her rest.—So hurry, my dear Lady Frances, become a Fine Lady, and compel your Husband to see the truth in my portrayal!

Lady Fran. I’m sure it’s a wonderful one. How can you dislike it, Sir George? You described Fashionable Life in such awful terms that I thought I hated it; but now that I look closer, it seems delightful. I’ve been living in the shadows so far; it’s time for me to be a Woman of the World. I can’t wait to start; my heart races with excitement and joy!

Mrs. Rack. Come on; let's get started right away. I'm eager to introduce you to that Society that you were meant to enhance and delight.

Lady Fran. Goodbye, my love!—We'll see each other again at dinner. (Leaving.)

Sir Geo. Of course, I must be dreaming!—Fanny!

Lady Fran. (coming back) Sir George?

Sir Geo. Are you leaving without me?

Mrs. Rack. Are you really going to leave without me?—ha! ha! ha! what a sad thing to say! Come on, you know you wouldn’t always be seen together, like two peas in a pod. Are you scared to let Lady Frances be with me, Sir?

Sir George. Goodness! Who can a man trust with his wife in today's society? Back in the day, there were clear distinctions in character among women: every group of females had its own traits; Grandmothers were religious, Aunts were sensible, Old Maids were critical! But now, aunts, grandmothers, girls, and single women are all just the same; a wrinkle more or less is the only difference among them.

Mrs. Rack. The fact that young women have stopped being so judgmental is definitely not on your list of complaints.

Sir Geo. Absolutely—and considered one of the biggest issues. Things were fine, Madam, when the gossip of a few old maids kept all the wives and daughters in the neighborhood on their toes. They were the dragons guarding the golden fruit; and I’m surprised they haven’t been required, by law, to take on that role again.

Mrs. Rack. Ha! ha! ha! and retired, I guess, for digging into the lives and chats of their neighbors.

Sir Geo. With all my heart, and empowered to make every woman adjust her behavior to her true situation. You, for example, are a widow: your demeanor should be calm, your attire serious, your behavior motherly, and in every way a role model for the young women around you!—instead, you're dressed to attract attention, focused solely on capturing hearts; you're a flirt, a clever conversationalist, and a fashionable lady.

Mrs. Rack. Listen to what he’s saying! A flirt! A clever person! And a classy lady! Who would have thought we’d hear praise from someone so unpleasant!—Courage for a soldier, wisdom for a judge, or glory for a prince doesn’t compare to what this kind of woman represents.

Miss Ogle. Sir George, I see, longs for the delightful company of a century and a half ago; when a serious 'Squire and an even more serious Dame, surrounded by a solemn family, created a formal group in a dusty old house in the corner of a park.

Mrs. Rack. What a lovely peace! Not interrupted by anything except the cawing of crows and the occasional rumble of an old family carriage on a visit; with the pleasant surprise of a friendly visit from the local pharmacist or the curate's wife.

Sir Geo. And what’s this society you’re bragging about?—just a total mess where all sense of social rank disappears in a silly attempt to act casual, and every type of person is crammed together like they were before the world was created. In the same select party, you’ll often see the wife of a Bishop mingling with a con artist, or an Earl chatting with a musician. In short, it’s one big masquerade, with everyone dressed in the same clothes and acting the same way.

Serv. Mr. Flutter.

[Exit Assistant.]

Sir Geo. Here comes an example. Now I challenge you to determine from his appearance whether Flutter is a Privy Councillor, a Mercer, a Lawyer, or an Apprentice in a grocery store.

Flut. Oh, whatever you want, Sir George; just don’t make me a Lord Mayor. Ah, Mrs. Racket!Understood! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.Lady Frances, your most obedient; you look—honestly, that’s so annoying!—if your dress had been a different color, I would have said the cutest thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

Miss Ogle. Please give it to us.

Flut. I was at Mrs. Bloomer's yesterday. She was all dressed in green; the only other colors were her face and chest. So I said, "My dear Mrs. Bloomer! You look like a carnation just bursting from its bud."

Sir Geo. And what did her husband say?

Flut. Her husband! Well, her husband laughed and said a cucumber would have been a better comparison.

Sir Geo. But there are husbands, Sir, who would rather correct than improve your comparison; I, for one, would see a man complimenting my wife as rude.

Flut. What harm can come from compliments? They're definitely not contagious; and if they were, you, Sir George, of all people, should be pleased about your lady's feelings. Everyone's talking about it: that little bird she killed out of jealousy is the most remarkable act of love ever shown.

Lady Fran. I killed a bird out of jealousy!—Oh my gosh! Mr. Flutter, how can you accuse me of such cruelty?

Sir Geo. I could have forgiven you if you had.

Flut. Oh, what a clumsy fool!—No, wait—now I remember— it was your bird, Lady Frances—that's it; your bullfinch, which Sir George, in one of his more extravagant moments, sent out into the world to find its fortune.—He thought it was a knight in disguise.

Lady Fran. Is it possible! Oh, Sir George, could I have imagined it was you who took away someone I cared about so much?

Sir Geo. Mr. Flutter, you’re one of those overly busy yet lazy, meddlesome people who, from sheer boredom, are the most dangerous people in a family. You don’t have any feelings or opinions of your own; instead, like a glass in a pub, you just reflect the opinions of every fool that shares their thoughts with you. And just because you don’t intend to cause harm, you think you’re off the hook, even though your thoughtlessness leads to broken friendships, conflicts, and even violence.

Flut. (taking out his notes) Such an empty mind!—What was next? I’ll jot down this sermon; it’s the first one I’ve heard since my grandmother’s funeral.

Miss Ogle. Come on, Lady Frances, you can see how cruel your loving husband can be; so let’s leave him.

Sir Geo. Ma'am, Lady Frances is not going.

Lady Fran. Shall we not, Sir George?—This is the first time I've ever heard such words—(weeping)

Sir Geo. My love! My life!

Lady Fran. Don’t think I’ll be treated like a child! Just because I’m denied what I want, that doesn’t mean I’ll be soothed with nice words.

Miss Ogle (apart). The Bullfinch! That's a great topic; always keep it interesting.

Lady Fran. I can clearly see you want to take away all my pleasures, along with my sweet Bird—out of pure love!—Cruel Man!

Sir Geo. That's fine, Madam; your anger over that situation shows me something I didn't realize before: that you lack both compassion and understanding. Just think about how you'll regret this moment when you'd give anything for a sign of my love. Go ahead, Madam, give yourself to the public; lose yourself in the distractions of life, and see if, in the parties and foolishness that are coming your way, you can find a substitute for the love you've lost from a devoted husband.

[Exit Sir George.]

Flut. Wow! What a great thing it is to have the gift of Speech! I guess Sir George practices at Coachmakers' Hall, or the Black Horse on Bond Street.

Lady Fran. He’s really upset; I can’t go.

Mrs. Rack. Don't go! You silly person! You've reached the moment that was bound to come eventually; and everything relies on how you choose to handle it.

Miss Ogle. Come on, Lady Frances! Don't hold back! The minutes are valuable.

Lady Fran. I could feel it in my heart!—but I won't give in either.—If I do this time, he'll expect it forever.

[Exit Lady Frances, and Mrs. Racket.

Miss Ogle. Now you’re acting like a strong woman.

[Exit Miss Ogle, and Mrs. Racket.

Flut. What a tough choice—between Duty and Pleasure! Pleasure wins, and off we go, Iö! triumphe

[Exit Flutter.]

Silv. All right, all right. This morning will be all about curiosity; my sale starts tomorrow at eleven. But, Mrs. Fagg, if you do as poorly as you did at Lord Fillagree's sale, I'm going to let you go. You really lack the skill: and this dress—well, no one would ever mistake you for a lady.

Fag. That's absolutely right, Mr. Silvertongue; but I can't afford to dress like a lady on just two shillings and sixpence a day, as they say. If you want me to dress like a lady, you'll need to double my pay.Understood. Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.Double or nothing, Mr. Silvertongue.

Silv.Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.Five Shillings a day! What a demand! Seriously, there are a thousand clergymen in town who don’t even make Five Shillings a day, even though they preach, pray, perform baptisms, marry couples, and conduct funerals for the benefit of the community. Five Shillings a day! That’s what a lieutenant in a marching regiment makes, who has a servant, a mistress, a horse; fights, dresses well, flirts, falls in love, and potentially dies—all for Five Shillings a day.

Fag. Oh, about that, you’re absolutely right. A soldier shouldn’t be too attached to life; and making him do all these things for just Five Shillings a day is the quickest way to make him tired of it.

Silv. So, Mask, have you been checking out the Antiquaries? Have you got all the technical terms figured out?

Mask. Yes, I have: I can tell the age of a coin by taste and pinpoint the date of a medal, whether it's Anno Mundi or Anno Domini, even if the green corrosion has destroyed every inscription. But you know, the brown suit and wig I wear when I act as the antiquarian are in Limbo.

Silv. The ones you're wearing are fine.

Mask. These!—Wow, with these on I feel like a well-traveled Cognoscento: Mr. Glib got them from Sir Tom Totter's valet; and I'm heading there right now. You know his art auction is today; I've got my mind buzzing with Parmegiano, Sal Rosa, Metzu, Tarbaek, and Vandermeer. I mention Woovermans' relief, Teniers' spirit, the colors of the Venetian School, and the precision of the Roman style. I can tell Claude by his painting of Sleep, and Ruysdael by his water scenes. The speed of Tintoretto's brushwork hits me immediately; meanwhile, the harmony of Van Dyck and the brilliance of Correggio show who their masters are.

1st Lady. Wow, Mr. Silvertongue! Where is everybody?

Silv. Oh, my Lady, we'll have plenty of visitors in no time; if they see your carriage at my door, I’m sure no one else will go by.

1st Lady. Familiar Monster! [Aside.] That's a beautiful Diana, Mr. Silvertongue; but seriously, how did Actæon end up on top of a house?

Silv. That's a David and Bathsheba, ma'am.

Lady. Oh, I crave their forgiveness!I'm ready to assist! Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.I remember the names, but know nothing about the story.

1st Gent. Wasn't that Lady Frances Touchwood, walking up with Mrs. Racket?

2d Gent. I think so; Understood. Please provide the text for modernization. yeah, it is, for sure.Understood! Please provide the short piece of text you would like me to modernize. Let's get closer.

Silv. Yes, Sir, this will be the first Lot:—the Model of a City, made of wax.

2d Gent. The Model of a City! Which City?

Silv. I haven't been able to figure that out; but whether it's called Rome, Beijing, or London, it's still a city: you'll find the same conflicting interests, the same passions, the same virtues, and the same vices, no matter what you call it.

Gent. You might as well give us a map of Terra Incognita.

Silv. Oh, excuse me, Sir! A vivid imagination could turn this waxy City into an endless and fascinating entertainment. For example—check out this little House on the right; there are four old busybodies in it, watching over their neighbors' reputations. This beautiful Mansion on the left, adorned with Corinthian columns—who needs to be told it belongs to a Court Lord and is home to Patriotism, Philosophy, and Virtue? Here’s a City Hall—the rich smells coming from the windows feed a nearby Workhouse. Here’s a Church—we'll skip that; the doors are closed. The Parsonage comes next;—let’s take a peek in here, though.—Look at the Doctor! He’s asleep on a book by Toland; meanwhile, his wife is putting on rouge for the Masquerade.—Oh! oh! This can't be an English City; our Parson are all orthodox, and their wives the epitome of Modesty and Meekness.

Lady Fran. I wish Sir George were here.Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.This guy keeps following me around and looking at me in a way that really makes me uncomfortable.

Miss Ogle. He has traveled and is heir to a huge estate; so he's arrogant by nature.

Court. You are so cruel, ladies. Miss Ogle—you won’t let me talk to you. And as for this little scornful beauty, she has shot me down fifty times.

Lady Fran. Sir—I’m a married woman. (Confused.)

Court. A married woman! What a great hint. (Aside.) It would be a shame if such a charming woman wasn't married. But I see you're a Daphne just back from your sheep and meadows, with your crook and waterfalls. Tell me, who is the lucky Damon to whom you've promised eternal truth and loyalty?

Miss Ogle. This is Lady Frances Touchwood, Mr. Courtall, whom you are speaking to.

Court. Lady Frances! Oh my gosh, that's Saville's ex. [Aside.] I apologize, my Lady. I should have realized that such beauty could only belong to your nameUnderstood! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.a name I've been in love with for a long time because I know it's that of the most amazing woman in the world.

Lady Fran. [Apart.] My dear Mrs. Racket, I'm so scared! There's a man hitting on me, even though he knows I'm married.

Mrs. Rack. Oh, the sooner the better for that, my dear; don't pay any attention to him. Were you at the Cassino last night, Mr. Courtall?

Court. I looked in.Got it! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize. It was impossible to stay. Nobody there but old stuff. You'll be at Lady Brilliant's tonight, right?

Mrs. Rack. Yeah, I’m going with Lady Frances.

Lady Fran. Oh my! I had no idea this guy knew Mrs. Racket.—I was so rude to him! [To Miss Ogle.]

Mrs. Rack. Come on, Ma'am; [looking at her Watch.] it's past one. Honestly, if we don't hurry to Kensington, we won't find anyone there.

Lady Fran. Isn't this guy coming with us?

Court. [Looking surprised.] You truly make me incredibly happy, Madam, beyond words.

Mrs. Rack. Oh, don’t worry about him—he’ll catch up.

[Exit Lady Frances, Mrs. Racket,
and Miss Ogle.

Court. Lady Touchwood! What a surprise! But it’s always like this—your shy ladies are like ice, seriously! As soon as they start to warm up, they just melt away.

Following.

Come on, get ready; your partner is on their way.

Letit. My lover!—Admit now that my absence at dinner really embarrassed him.

Mrs. Rack. I can’t totally say it ruined his appetite; he ate like he was hungry and drank his wine like he enjoyed it.

Let it. What was the apology?

Mrs. Rack. That you were sick;—but I suggested to him that your intense shyness couldn't handle his gaze.

Let it be. If I understand him correctly, awkwardness and shyness are the last flaws he can tolerate in a woman; so expect to see me turned into the most clumsy person.

Mrs. Rack. Are you still persevering?

Letit. Of course. I realize the plan is a risky one, and the situation is significant; it will either bind Doricourt to me through all the deepest connections of love, or take him away from me for good. Being his wife will hurt me less than being his wife without his love.

Mrs. Rack. So you won't rely on the old saying—"Marry first, and love will follow?"

Letit. Just like I would risk my last coin, hoping good luck would come my way. A woman who hasn’t touched a man’s heart before they get married has almost no chance of winning it over once they have him secured. —But here he comes.—I’ll step away for a moment.—Don’t hold back.

[Exit Letitia.]

Doric. So! [Looking at a Picture.] This is my lady, I assume.—Wow! The artist really captured her.—The downcast eye—the blushing cheek—timid—anxious—bashful.—A tear and a prayer book would have made her La Bella Magdalena.—

Mrs. Rack. Is that a spontaneous thing? [Touching him on the shoulder with her fan.]

Doric. (starting.) Ma'am!—[Aside.] Nicely done!—Not quite—it occurred to me during dessert as a motto for your painting.

Mrs. Rack. You’re turning out quite gallantly! Still, I can see that Miss Hardy's charms haven't made a strong impression on you. And who could blame you? The poor girl’s flaws are so clear.

Doric. Issues!

Mrs. Rack. Just those with an education.—Her father's overindulgence messed her up.—Mauvaise honte—arrogance and ignorance—all come together in the woman you are going to marry.

Doric. Really!—I’m going to marry someone like her!—I hope your description is exaggerated.—I’m going to marry mauvaise honte, arrogance, and ignorance!

Mrs. Rack. Thank your lucky stars that she's not also ugly or mean. You think she's pretty, right?

Doric. Just half of her natural beauty would satisfy me; but if the Medicean Venus were brought to life for me, yet filled with a common soul, I would turn into the statue, and my heart would turn to marble.

Mrs. Rack. Wow!—So we’re in a good place then!

Doric. (Aside.) There’s definitely some jealousy here!—I can tell she’s a flirt. Ha, ha, ha! And you think I believe your description of her? Ha, ha, ha! Miss Hardy, I’ve been told, is graceful and talented:Understood. Please provide the text for modernization.but we have to consider a lady's embellishments.

Mrs. Rack. (Aside.) I'll get back at him for that. Ha! ha! ha! So, you figured me out!—I swear I meant no harm; I just wanted to enhance her presence by putting a veil over her beauty.Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.Here comes the Lady; her elegance and talents will speak for themselves.

Let. Wow! Cousin, did you hear about our JohnPlease provide the text you would like me to modernize.oh, dear!—I didn't notice you, Sir. (She lowers her head and steps back behind Mrs. Racket.)

Mrs. Rack. Come on, Letitia! Mr. Doricourt believes you have refined manners. Step up and prove him right.

Let. No, no; keep looking at me.Please provide the short text you would like me to modernize.He's my sweetheart; and it's rude to look your sweetheart in the face, you know.

Mrs. Rack. You'll need to make room for a lady's painting in the future, sir. Ha! ha! ha!

Doric. I’m amazed!

Fine. Well, you know what, I’ll pull myself together.—After all, he’s just a man, Cousin;—and I’ll show him that I wasn’t raised in the woods to be scared by an owl. [Half to herself; approaches, and looks at him through her fingers.] He! he! he! [Walks up to him and makes a very stiff, formal curtsy.]—[He bows.]—I hear you’ve done a lot of traveling, sir?

Dor. Yes, Ma'am.

Let. Then I wish you'd tell us about the amazing sights you saw when you traveled abroad. — I read in a book that there are some places where all the men and women are horses. — Did you see any of them?

Mrs. Rack. Mr. Doricourt isn't ready, my dear, for these questions; he's thinking about how important it is, and he will reply to youUnderstood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.when he can.

Let. When he can! Wow, he's as slow to speak as Aunt Margery when she's reading Thomas Aquinas;—and just stares blankly like she's lost in thought.

Mrs. Rack. Show a little discretion.

Let. Keep quiet!—Of course I can say what I want before I’m married, if I can’t afterwards.—Do you think a person doesn’t know how to talk to a sweetheart? He’s not the first one I’ve had.

Dor. You bet!

Let. Oh, God! He speaks!—Well, if you really want to know—there was the Curate at home:—when Dad was out hunting, he would come around and court me, giving me speeches from books.—Nobody knows how many lovely things he used to say to me;—and he would call me Venis, and Jubah, and Dinah!

Dor. So, tell me, lovely Lady, how did you respond to him?

Let. I used to say, “Hey, Mr. Curate, don’t try to fool me with your nonsense; because a better man than you has ever been is coming across the sea to marry me;—but honestly, I’m starting to think I was wrong. Parson Dobbins was the livelier of the two.”

Dor. This can't be Ms. Hardy!

Come on. Laws! Don't you recognize me? You saw me today, but I was intimidated in front of my dad, the lawyer, and everyone else, and I didn’t feel like speaking up. So maybe you thought I couldn’t; but I can talk as fast as anyone when I know people a bit. Now that I've shared my thoughts, I hope you'll like me more.

Har. I can tell this won't work!—Mr. Doricourt, maybe you think my daughter is a fool, but you are wrong: she's as smart as any girl in England.

Dor. I'm sure she has a really unique perspective, Sir. [Aside.] I didn't realize he was such a fool.

Let. My dad will sort everything out. Seriously, Dad, how can you think he can trick me into acting dumb? Everyone knows I beat the pharmacist at riddles last Christmas! And didn’t I create a list of names, all in riddles, for the Lady’s Diary? There was a little river, and a big house; that was Newcastle. There was what a lamb says, and three letters; that was Ba, and k-e-r, ker, Baker. There was—

Hardy. Don’t just stand there acting sheepish. You’ll make me mad soon!—I’m telling you, Sir, that despite everything, she’s really sensible.

Doric. Sir, I fully acknowledge your statements.

Letit. Laws! Dad, please come along. If you just stand there watching, how can my Sweetheart express his feelings and tell me how much he admires me?

Doric. That would be really challenging, for sure, Ma'am.

Hardy. I’m telling you, Letty, I'm done with this. Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.I can see perfectly well Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.

Letit. Laws! don't dismiss me in front of my husband—that's just not cool. You'll teach him to dismiss me too, and by his expression, it seems he’d love to start right now. So, let's go, Cousin; you can tell the gentleman about my talents—how I can cut watch papers and work with cat gut; make quad baskets with pins and take shadow profiles; just as well as the lady at No. 62, South Moulton Street, Grosvenor Square.

Exit Hardy and Letitia.

Mrs. Rack. What do you think of my painting now?

Doric. Oh, just watercolors, Madam! The Lady has made a caricature of your portrait.

Mrs. Rack. So, what do you think of her overall?

Doric. Like a great design, ruined by the artist's lack of skill. Her flaws clearly come from her father's weak indulgence. I noticed a look in her eye that seemed to mock the foolishness of her words.

Mrs. Rack. But at her age, when education is set, and manner becomes second nature—hopes for improvement—

Doric. It would be as sensible as expecting gold from a magician's crucible. Doricourt's wife must be beyond any chance of improvement, but that’s because she has already gone past it.

Mrs. Rack. I'm glad your troubles aren't weighing you down too much.

Doric. Excuse me, Madam; I was born during a particularly unpredictable time, so misfortunes always hit me hard, like a pebble sinking in water, while the surface stays calm. —I definitely plan to head off to Bath, or possibly to the afterlife, tonight;—but whether I should take a carriage with four fast horses or leave through the barrel of a gun is something to think about; so I say my goodbyes. (Going.)

Mrs. Rack. Oh, please, I urge you, delay your trip until tomorrow; decide whatever you like—you have to be at the Masquerade tonight.

Doric. Party!

Mrs. Rack. Why not?—If you decide to explore the afterlife, you might as well enjoy one last night of pleasure in this world first, you know.

Doric. Seriously, that's absolutely right; women are the best philosophers, after all. Count on me to be at the Masquerade.

[Exit