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_ ACT IV - SCENE II
[VAN ROUGH'S House.]
VAN ROUGH
[alone.]
IT cannot possibly be true! The son of my old friend can't have acted
so unadvisedly. Seventeen thousand pounds! in bills! Mr. Transfer
must have been mistaken. He always appeared so prudent, and talked so
well upon money matters, and even assured me that he intended to change
his dress for a suit of clothes which would not cost so much, and look
more substantial, as soon as he married. No, no, no! it can't be; it
cannot be. But, however, I must look out sharp. I did not care what
his principles or his actions were, so long as he minded the main
chance. Seventeen thousand pounds! If he had lost it in trade, why
the best men may have ill-luck; but to game it away, as Transfer
says--why, at this rate, his whole estate may go in one night, and,
what is ten times worse, mine into the bargain. No, no; Mary is right.
Leave women to look out in these matters; for all they look as if they
didn't know a journal from a ledger, when their interest is concerned
they know what's what; they mind the main chance as well as the best of
us. I wonder Mary did not tell me she knew of his spending his money
so foolishly. Seventeen thousand pounds! Why, if my daughter was
standing up to be married, I would forbid the banns, if I found it was
to a man who did not mind the main chance.--Hush! I hear somebody
coming. 'Tis Mary's voice; a man with her too! I shouldn't be
surprised if this should be the other string to her bow. Aye, aye, let
them alone; women understand the main chance.--Though, I' faith, I'll
listen a little.
[Retires into a closet.]
[MANLY leading in MARIA.]
MANLY.
I hope you will excuse my speaking upon so important a subject so
abruptly; but, the moment I entered your room, you struck me as the
lady whom I had long loved in imagination, and never hoped to see.
MARIA.
Indeed, Sir, I have been led to hear more upon this subject than I
ought.
MANLY.
Do you, then, disapprove my suit, Madam, or the abruptness of my
introducing it? If the latter, my peculiar situation, being obliged to
leave the city in a few days, will, I hope, be my excuse; if the
former, I will retire, for I am sure I would not give a moment's
inquietude to her whom I could devote my life to please. I am not so
indelicate as to seek your immediate approbation; permit me only to be
near you, and by a thousand tender assiduities to endeavour to excite a
grateful return.
MARIA.
I have a father, whom I would die to make happy; he will disapprove--
MANLY.
Do you think me so ungenerous as to seek a place in your esteem without
his consent? You must--you ever ought to consider that man as unworthy
of you who seeks an interest in your heart contrary to a father's
approbation. A young lady should reflect that the loss of a lover may
be supplied, but nothing can compensate for the loss of a parent's
affection. Yet, why do you suppose your father would disapprove? In
our country, the affections are not sacrificed to riches or family
aggrandizement: should you approve, my family is decent, and my rank
honourable.
MARIA.
You distress me, Sir.
MANLY.
Then I will sincerely beg your excuse for obtruding so disagreeable a
subject, and retire.
[Going.]
MARIA.
Stay, Sir! your generosity and good opinion of me deserve a return; but
why must I declare what, for these few hours, I have scarce suffered
myself to think?--I am--
MANLY.
What?
MARIA.
Engaged, Sir; and, in a few days, to be married to the gentleman you
saw at your sister's.
MANLY.
Engaged to be married! And have I been basely invading the rights of
another? Why have you permitted this? Is this the return for the
partiality I declared for you?
MARIA.
You distress me, Sir. What would you have me say? You are too
generous to wish the truth. Ought I to say that I dared not suffer
myself to think of my engagement, and that I am going to give my hand
without my heart? Would you have me confess a partiality for you? If
so, your triumph is compleat, and can be only more so when days of
misery with the man I cannot love will make me think of him whom I
could prefer.
MANLY.
[after a pause].
We are both unhappy; but it is your duty to obey your parent--mine to
obey my honour. Let us, therefore, both follow the path of rectitude;
and of this we may be assured, that if we are not happy, we shall, at
least, deserve to be so. Adieu! I dare not trust myself longer with
you.
[Exeunt severally.]
END OF THE FOURTH ACT. _
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