SCENE II.—_A trellis of Vines in CRESPO’S garden.

_Enter CRESPO and DON LOPE._

_Cres._ Lay the table here. (_To LOPE._) You’ll relish your supper here in the cool, sir. These hot August days at least bring their cool nights by way of excuse.

_Lope._ A mighty pleasant parlour this!

_Cres._ Oh, a little strip my daughter amuses herself with; sit down, sir. In place of the fine voices and instruments you are used to, you must put up with only the breeze playing on the vine leaves in concert with the little fountain yonder. Even the birds (our only musicians) are gone to bed, and wouldn’t sing any the more if I were to wake them. Come, sit down, sir, and try to ease that poor leg of yours.

_Lope._ I wish to heaven I could.

_Cres._ Amen!

_Lope._ Well, I can at least bear it. Sit down, Crespo.

_Cres._ Thank you, sir. (_Hesitating._)

_Lope._ Sit down, sit down, pray.

_Cres._ Since you bid me then, you must excuse my ill manners. (_Sits._)

_Lope._ Humph! Do you know, I am thinking, Crespo, that yesterday’s riot rather overset your good ones.

_Cres._ Ay?

_Lope._ Why how else is it that you, whom I can scarce get to sit down at all to-day, yesterday plump’d yourself down at once, and in the big chair too?

_Cres._ Simply because yesterday you _didn’t_ ask me. To-day you are courteous, and I am shy.

_Lope._ Yesterday you were all thistle and hedgehog; to-day as soft as silk.

_Cres._ It is only because you yourself were so. I always answer in the key I’m spoken to; yesterday you were all out of tune, and so was I. It is my principle to swear with the swearer, and pray with the saint; all things to all men. So much so as I declare to you your bad leg kept me awake all night. And, by the by, I wish, now we are about it, you would tell me which of your legs it is that ails you: for, not knowing, I was obliged to make sure by swearing at both of mine: and one at a time is quite enough.

_Lope._ Well, Pedro, you will perhaps think I have some reason for my tetchiness, when I tell you that for thirty years during which I have served in the Flemish wars through summer’s sun, and winter’s frost, and enemy’s bullets, I have never known what it is to be an hour without pain.

_Cres._ God give you patience to bear it!

_Lope._ Pish! can’t I give it myself?

_Cres._ Well, let him leave you alone then!

_Lope._ Devil take patience!

_Cres._ Ah, let him! he wants it; only it’s too good a job for him.

_Enter JUAN with Table, etc._

_Juan._ Supper, sir!

_Lope._ But what are my people about, not to see to all this?

_Cres._ Pardon my having been so bold to tell them I and my family would wait upon you, so, as I hope, you shall want for nothing.

_Lope._ On one condition then, that as you have no fear of your company now, your daughter may join us at supper.

_Cres._ Juan, bid your sister come directly.

[_Exit JUAN._

_Lope._ My poor health may quiet all suspicion on that score, I think.

_Cres._ Sir, if you were as lusty as I wish you, I should have no fear. I bid my daughter keep above while the regiment was here because of the nonsense soldiers usually talk to girls. If all were gentlemen like you, I should be the first to make her wait on them.

_Lope_ (_aside_). The cautious old fellow!

_Enter JUAN, ISABEL, and INES._

_Isab._ (_to CRESPO_). Your pleasure, sir?

_Cres._ It is Don Lope’s, who honours you by bidding you to sup with him.

_Lope_ (_aside_). What a fair creature!—Nay, ’tis I that honour myself by the invitation.

_Isab._ Let me wait upon you.

_Lope._ Indeed no, unless waiting upon me mean supping with me.

_Cres._ Sit down, sit down, girl, as Don Lope desires you.

[_They sit at table. Guitar heard within._

_Lope._ Music too!

_Cres._ None of ours. It must be some of your soldiers, Don Lope.

_Lope._ Ah, Crespo, the troubles and dangers of war must have a little to sweeten them betimes. The uniform sits very tight, and must be let out every now and then.

_Juan._ Yet ’tis a fine life, sir.

_Lope._ Do you think you would like to follow it?

_Juan._ If I might at your Excellency’s side.

SONG (_within_).

Ah for the red spring rose, Down in the garden growing, Fading as fast as it blows, Who shall arrest its going? Peep from thy window and tell, Fairest of flowers, Isabel.

_Lope_ (_aside_). Pebbles thrown up at the window too! But I’ll say nothing, for all sakes. (_Aloud._) What foolery!

_Cres._ Boys! Boys! (_Aside._) To call her very name too! If it weren’t for Don Lope—

_Juan_ (_going_). I’ll teach them—

_Cres._ Holloa, lad, whither away?

_Juan._ To see for a dish—

_Cres._ They’ll see after that. Sit still where thou art.

SONG (_within_).

Wither it would, but the bee Over the blossom hovers, And the sweet life ere it flee With as sweet art recovers, Sweetest at night in his cell, Fairest of flowers, Isabel.

_Isab._ (_aside_). How have I deserved this?

_Lope_ (_knocking over his chair_). This is not to be borne!

_Cres._ (_upsetting the table_). No more it is!

_Lope._ I meant my leg.

_Cres._ And I mine.

_Lope._ I can eat no more, and will to bed.

_Cres._ Very good: so will I.

_Lope._ Good-night, good-night, to you all.

_All._ Good-night, sir.

_Lope_ (_aside_). I’ll see to them.

[_Exit._

_Cres._ (_aside_). I’ll shut the girls up, and then look after ’em. (_Aloud._) Come, to bed. (_To JUAN_) Holloa, lad, again! This is the way to thy room, is it not?

[_Exeunt severally._