SCENE II.—_Street between the Houses of ALONSO and FELIX.

_ALONSO and TORRIBIO waiting._

_Alon._ If you really affect Eugenia, nephew——(_aside_) as I wished,—I will communicate with her after church, and if all be well (as I cannot doubt) get a dispensation forthwith. But they are coming.

_Enter from ALONSO’S door CLARA, EUGENIA in mantles, the latter with a handkerchief in her hand; MARI NUÑO, BRIGIDA, and OTAÑEZ behind; and at the same time FELIX, JUAN, and PEDRO opposite._

_Clara._ Cover your face, Eugenia. People in the street.

_Eug._ Well, I’m not ashamed of it. (_Aside._) Don Pedro! and Don Juan!

_Fel._ (_whispers_). Which is it, Don Juan?

_Juan._ She with the handkerchief in her hand. I’ll go wait for her at the church.

[_Exit._

_Ped._ (_to FELIX_). That is she with the white kerchief in her hand. I’ll follow them.

_Fel._ (_aside_). The same, then!

_Clara._ Eugenia, lend me your handkerchief, it is hot. (_Takes the handkerchief and uncovers her face towards FELIX._) And let us go, and do not you look behind you.

_Fel._ And she I most admired.

[_Exeunt CLARA, EUGENIA, etc., PEDRO after them._

_Torr._ Uncle, what are these fellows hanging about our doors for?

_Alon._ Nay, ’tis the public street, you know.

_Torr._ What, my cousins’ street?

_Alon._ To be sure.

_Torr._ I’ll not suffer any one I don’t like to hang about it, however, and least of all these perfumery puppies.

_Alon._ But if they happen to live here, nephew?

_Torr._ Don’t let ’em live here, then.

_Alon._ But if they own houses?

_Torr._ They mustn’t own houses, then.

_Fel._ Don Alonso, permit me to kiss your hand on your arrival among us. I ought indeed first to have waited upon you in your own house; but this happy chance makes me anticipate etiquette.

_Torr._ Coxcomb!

_Alon._ Thank you, sir; had I known you intended me such a favour, I should have anticipated your anticipation by waiting upon you. Give me leave to present to you my nephew, Don Torribio de Cuadradillos, who will also be proud of your acquaintance.

_Torr._ No such thing, I shan’t at all.

_Alon._ Nephew, nephew!

_Fel._ I trust you are well, sir?

_Torr._ Oh, so, so, thank ye, for the matter of that, neither well nor ill, but mixt-like. (_ALONSO salutes FELIX and exit with TORRIBIO._)

_Fel._ Now then, I know both face, and dress, and name, And that my rival friends both love the same; The same too that myself of the fair pair Thought yester-eve the fairest of the fair: Was ’t not enough for my two friends that they Turn enemies—must I too join the fray? Oh, how at once to reconcile all three, Those two with one another, and with me!

_Re-enter JUAN hastily._

_Juan._ On seeing me, my friend, her colour chang’d: She loves me still, Don Felix! I am sure She loves me! Is not the face—we know it is, The tell-tale index of the heart within? Oh happiness! at once within your house, And next my lady’s! What is now to do But catch the ball good fortune throws at us! You know her father, you will visit him Of course, and then—and then—what easier? Draw me in with you, or after you—or perhaps A letter first—ay, and then afterward— But why so dumb?

_Fel._ I scarce know how to answer. Juan, you know I am too much your friend To do you any spite?

_Juan._ How could I dream it?

_Enter PEDRO hastily._

_Ped._ Oh, Felix, if my love—

_Fel._ (_aside_). The other now! He must be stopt. A moment, gentlemen, Before you speak, and let me tell you first A case of conscience you must solve for me. You both have mighty matters, I doubt not, To tell me, such a warm young gentlemen Are never at a loss for in Madrid; But I may have my difficulties too. (_Aside._) The same will serve for both.

_Ped._ Well, let us hear.

_Fel._ Suppose some friend of yours, dear as you will, Loving your neighbour’s daughter——(such a case Will do as well as any)—ask’d of you To smuggle him, his letters, or himself, Into that neighbour’s house, there secretly To ply a stolen love; what would you do?

_Ped._ Do it of course!

_Juan._ Why not?

_Fel._ Well, I would not.

_Ped._ But why?

_Fel._ Because, however it turn’d out, I must do ill; if one friend’s love succeeded I had play’d traitor to the other still; If unsuccessful, not that cost alone, But also, without counter-profiting, Him whom I sacrificed so much to serve.

_Ped._ If that be your determination, I have no more to say.

[_Exit._

_Juan._ Nor I: farewell; I must find other means.

[_Exit._

_Fel._ Of all the plagues, For one with no love profit of his own Thus to be pester’d with two lovers’ pains! And yet, what, after all, between the two— Between the _three_, perhaps, am I to do? Fore Heaven, I think ’twill be the only way To get her to untie who drew the knot; No woman ever at a loss To mend or mar a matter as she wills. Yet ’tis an awkward thing to ask a lady, ‘Pray, madam, which of these two sighing swains Do you like best? or both? or neither, madam?’ Were not a letter best? But then who take it? Since to commit her letter, would so far Commit her honour to another’s hands? By Heaven, I think I’ve nothing left to do, But ev’n to write it, and to take it too; A ticklish business—but may fair intent And prudent conduct lead to good event!

[_Exit._