The Way of the World
MIRABELL and FAINALL rising from cards. BETTY waiting.
MIRA. You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall.
FAIN. Have we done?
MIRA. What you please. I'll play on to entertain you.
FAIN. No, I'll give you your revenge another time, when you are not so indifferent; you
are thinking of something else now, and play too negligently: the coldness of a losing
gamester lessens the pleasure of the winner. I'd no more play with a man that slighted his
ill fortune than I'd make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of her reputation.
MIRA. You have a taste extremely delicate, and are for refining on your pleasures.
FAIN. Prithee, why so reserved? Something has put you out of humour.
MIRA. Not at all: I happen to be grave to-day, and you are gay; that's all.
FAIN. Confess, Millamant and you quarrelled last night, after I left you; my fair cousin
has some humours that would tempt the patience of a Stoic. What, some coxcomb came
in, and was well received by her, while you were by?
MIRA. Witwoud and Petulant, and what was worse, her aunt, your wife's mother, my
evil genius--or to sum up all in her own name, my old Lady Wishfort came in.
FAIN. Oh, there it is then: she has a lasting passion for you, and with reason.--What, then
my wife was there?
MIRA. Yes, and Mrs. Marwood and three or four more, whom I never saw before;
seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, whispered one another, then complained
aloud of the vapours, and after fell into a profound silence.
FAIN. They had a mind to be rid of you.