MILLA. I'll take my death, Marwood, you are more censorious than a
decayed beauty, or a discarded toast:- Mincing, tell the men they
may come up. My aunt is not dressing here; their folly is less
provoking than your malice.
SCENE XI.
MRS. MILLAMANT, MRS. MARWOOD.
MILLA. The town has found it? What has it found? That Mirabell
loves me is no more a secret than it is a secret that you discovered
it to my aunt, or than the reason why you discovered it is a secret.
MRS. MAR. You are nettled.
MILLA. You're mistaken. Ridiculous!
MRS. MAR. Indeed, my dear, you'll tear another fan, if you don't
mitigate those violent airs.
MILLA. O silly! Ha, ha, ha! I could laugh immoderately. Poor
Mirabell! His constancy to me has quite destroyed his complaisance
for all the world beside. I swear I never enjoined it him to be so
coy. If I had the vanity to think he would obey me, I would command
him to show more gallantry: 'tis hardly well-bred to be so
particular on one hand and so insensible on the other.
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