have found it agreeable to take a sentimental saunter in the shrubbery.
They have become mighty intimate. Who could have thought it?
Vanity, as well as a city shower, occasions many strange acquaintances.
But of a kind less transient. They do not part at the mouth of a shed or gateway, and meet again no more.
Not always; but in the present instance the resemblance will hold good, even in this respect.
I fear you deceive yourself.
I believe I do not; but I will not be positive. You know Clermont better than I do.
I thought I knew him; but I was mistaken.
Re-enter Clermont from the shrubbery, and bows to Miss Frankland without speaking.
You are grave, Mr. Clermont, and I trace
