Bet. O!—O! she is sly enough; she looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth; but all is not gold that glitters; smooth water, you know, sir, runs deepest:—I am sorry my young master makes such a fool of himself— but—um!—take my word for it, he is not the man,—for though she looks as modest as a maid at a christening—[hesitating.] yet—ah!—when sweethearts meet—in the dusk of the evening—and stay together a whole hour—in the dark grove—and embrace—and kiss—and weep at parting,—why then you know, sir, it is easy to guess all the rest.
Sid. Why did Constantia meet any body in this manner?
Bet. [Starting with surprise.] O! heavens!—I beg, sir, you will not misapprehend me; for I assure you I do not believe they did any harm—that is, not in the grove—at least, not when I was there;—and she may be honestly married for aught I know.—O! lud! sir,—I would not say an ill thing of Miss Constantia for the world,—for to be sure she is a good creature:—'tis true, my lady took her in for charity, and indeed has bred her up to the music and figures;—ay, and reading all the books about Homer—and Paradise—and Gods and Devils,—and every thing in the world,— as if she had been a dutchess: but some people are born with luck in their mouths, and then—as the saying is—you may throw them into the sea— [deports herself most affedtedly.] but—if I had had dancing masters— and music masters—and French Mounseers to teach me—I believe I might have read the globes, and the maps,—and have danced,—and have been as clever as other folks.
Sid. Ha, ha, ha! no doubt on it, Mrs. Betty;—but you mentioned something of a dark walk,—kissing,—a sweetheart and Constantia.
Bet. [Starts into a cautious hypocrisy.] O! lud! sir—I don't know any thing of the matter: she may be very honest for aught I know: I only say, that they did meet in the dark walk,—and all the servants observe that Miss Constantia wears her stays very loose—looks very pale—is sick in a morning, and after dinner: and, as sure as my name is Betty Hint, something has happened that I won't name,—but—nine months hence—a certain person in this family may ask me to stand godmother, for I think I know what's what, when I see it as well as another.
Sid. No doubt you do, Mrs. Betty.
Bet. [Cries, turns up her eyes, and acts a most friendly hypocrisy.] I do, indeed, sir. I am very sorry for Miss Constantia. I never thought she would have taken such courses—for in truth I love her as if she was my own sister; and though all the servants say that she is breeding—yet, for my part, I don't believe it; but—one must speak according to one's conscience, you know, sir.
Sid. O! I see you do.
Bet. [Going and returning.] I do indeed, sir: and so your servant, sir—but—I hope your worship won't mention my name in this business;—or that you had any item from me.
Sid. I shall not, Mrs. Betty.