Amelia.
No. [ſhaking her head.]
Baron.
Are not you a little embarraſſed?
Amelia.
No.
Baron.
Don’t you wiſh ſometimes to ſpeak to him, and have not the courage to begin?
Amelia.
No.
Baron.
Do not you wiſh to take his part when his companions laugh at him?
Amelia.
No—I love to laugh at him myſelf.
Baron.
Provoking! Aſide.] Are not you afraid of him when he comes near you?
Amelia.
No, not at all.—Oh yes—once. [recollecting herſelf.]
Baron.
Ah! Now it comes!
Amelia.
Once at a ball he trod on my foot; and I was ſo afraid he ſhould tread on me again.
Baron.
You put me out of patience. Hear, Amelia! [ſtops ſhort, and ſpeaks ſofter. To ſee you happy is my wiſh. But matrimony, without concord, is like a duetto badly performed; for that reaſon, nature, the great compoſer of all harmony, has ordained, that, when bodies are allied,
