F. T. We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends often deceive us.
Mrs. C. True, sir, true,—but who would have thought that the child I took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.
F. T. Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes!
Mrs. C. Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.
F. T. Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The star informs me, madam, that you are a widow.
Mrs. C. La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband?
F. T. No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by such means. Thy name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is Boston.
Mrs. C. Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.
F. T. This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.
Mrs. C. I perceive, sir, you know every thing.