Lovel. No matter, no matter--The fellow may be a new-come servant: he
is not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be
bloated and in a dropsy.

Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do.

Lovel. True--but the clown may not know that. 'Tis but for a present
deception. Peggy, Peggy, call'd I, in a female tone, softly at the door.
Madam, answer'd Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door.

Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And
get his business from him, whatever you do.

Away went Peggy.

Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your
handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he
may not see your eyes and your hair.--So--that's right.--I'll step into
the closet by you.

I did so.

Peggy. [Returning.] He won't deliver his business to me. He will
speak to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self.

Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs.
Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she
is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was.