Lady Bacon, the Miss Bacons, Mr. Flam.

Lady B. — Leonora! Maria! Amelia! here is the gentleman we met at Sir John Porkington’s.

[The MISSES BACON, expecting to be asked to dance, smile simultaneously, and begin to smooth their tuckers.]

Mr. Flam. — Lady Bacon! I couldn’t be mistaken in YOU! Won’t you dance, Lady Bacon?

Lady B. — Go away, you droll creature!

Mr. Flam. — And these are your ladyship’s seven lovely sisters, to judge from their likenesses to the charming Lady Bacon?

Lady B. — My sisters, he! he! my DAUGHTERS, Mr. Flam, and THEY dance, don’t you, girls?

The Misses Bacon. — O yes!

Mr. Flam. — Gad! how I wish I was a dancing man!

[Exit FLAM.