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.