all. Louisa is going to be married; but to whom I
know not,--and my Lord persists in his fatal attachment to Lady
Waitfor't.

_Ennui._ In fact--Why fatal?

_Nev._ Because it is the source of every mischief.--While she maintains
her power over him, I have no hope of love or fortune:--When my father
died, he left his estate to my brother, relying on my lord providing for
me--and now, how he deserts me!--and all owing to the artifices of an
insidious woman.

_Ennui._ I've an idea, I comprehend her motive--she loves you.

_Nev._ Yes, 'tis too plain--and, because I would not listen to her
advances, she has ruined me in my uncle's opinion, and degraded me in
Louisa's;--but I will see Miss Courtney herself--I will hear my doom
from her own mouth; and if she avoids me, I will leave her, and this
country, for ever.

_Enter PETER._

_Peter._ A letter, sir.

_Nev._ Without direction!--What can it mean?

_Peter._ Sir, 'tis from Lady Waitfor't.--The servant, who brought it,
said, her ladyship had reasons for not directing it, which she would
explain to you when she saw you. [_Exit._

_Nev._ Oh, the old stratagem:--as it is not directed, she may swear it
was designed for another person. [_Reads._

_Sir_,

_I have heard of your arrival at Bath, and, strange as
my conduct may appear, I think it a duty I owe to the
virtuous part of mankind, to promote their happiness as
much as I can; I have long beheld your merit, and long
wished to encourage it.--I shall be at home at six this
evening. Yours,_

A. WAITFOR'T.

_Ennui._ In fact--a very sentimental assignation, that would do as well
for any other man.

_Nev._ If I show it to my lord, I know his bigotry is such, that he
would, as usual, only suppose it a trick of my own--the more cause there
is to condemn, the more he approves.

_Ennui._ I've an idea, he's incomprehensible.--In fact--who have we
here?

_Nev._ As I live, Vapid, the dramatic author--he is come to Bath to pick
up characters, I suppose.

_Ennui._ In fact--pick up!

_Nev._ Yes--he has the ardor scribendi upon him so strong, that he would
rather you'd ask him to write an epilogue to a new play, than offer him
your whole estate--the theatre is his world, in which are included all
his hopes and wishes.--In short, he is a dramatic maniac. And to such an
extent does he carry his folly, that if he