eature is that brother of
mine, to send them to the house as an inn! ha! ha! I don't wonder at
his impudence.

MAID. But what is more, madam, the young gentleman, as you passed by
in your present dress, asked me if you were the bar-maid. He mistook
you for the bar-maid, madam.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Did he? Then as I live, I'm resolved to keep up the
delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you like my present dress? Don't
you think I look something like Cherry in the Beaux Stratagem?

MAID. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears in the country, but
when she visits or receives company.

MISS HARDCASTLE. And are you sure he does not remember my face or
person?

MAID. Certain of it.

MISS HARDCASTLE. I vow, I thought so; for, though we spoke for some
time together, yet his fears were such, that he never once looked up
during the interview. Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him
from seeing me.

MAID. But what do you hope from keeping him in his mistake?

MISS HARDCASTLE. In the first place I shall be seen, and that is no
small advantage to a girl who brings her face to market. Then I shall
perhaps make an acquaintance, and that's no small victory gained over
one who never addresses any but the wildest of her sex. But my chief
aim is, to take my gentleman off his guard, and, like an invisible
champion of romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to
combat.

MAID. But you are sure you can act your part, and disguise your voice
so that he may mistake that, as he has already mistaken your person?

MISS HARDCASTLE. Never fear me. I think I have got the true bar
cant--Did your honour call?--Attend the Lion there--Pipes and tobacco
for the Angel.--The Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour.

MAID. It will do, madam. But he's here. [Exit MAID.]

Enter MARLOW.

MARLOW. What a bawling in every part of the house! I have scarce a
moment's repose. If I go to the best room, there I find my host and
his story: if I fly to the gallery, there we have my hostess with her
curtsey down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and
now for recollection. [Walks and muses.]

MISS HARDCASTLE. Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?

MARLOW. (Musing.) As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too grave and
sentimental for me.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Did your honour call? (She still places herself
before him, he turning away.)

MARLOW. No, child. (Musing.) Besides, from the gli