Lewis [laughing]. Then hers would be quite an old-fashioned love.
Augusta [surprised]. Old-fashioned! What am I to understand by that?
Lewis. I mean, [with affected seriousness] a love, such as does not now exist; a true, sincere love.
Augusta. Have you any reason to doubt the existence of such a love?
Lewis. Too many.
Augusta. You have been deceived then?
Lewis. Oh, a thousand times—and undoubtedly shall again.
Augusta. You exaggerate.
Lewis. No, no. With the first object of my passion, I was up to the ears in love. My goddess, to reward my cruel sufferings, allowed me only a place by her chair, and the honour of being marked as her most obedient slave; I sighed, languished, complained, despaired: saw at last, what she meant, and was cured—forever, as I presumed; but, alas! I soon trusted another. Well; there I was made use of to excite the jealousy of her inconstant favourite.
Augusta. You misrepresent, Mr. Brook.