Stu. What villains?
Bev. Dawson and the rest—We have been dupes to sharpers.
Stu. How know you this? I have had doubts, as well as You; yet still as fortune changed, I blushed at my own thoughts. But You have proofs, perhaps?
Bev. Ay, damned ones. Repeated losses: night after night, and no reverse. Chance has no hand in this.
Stu. I think more charitably; yet I am peevish in my nature, and apt to doubt. The world speaks fairly of this Dawson; so does it of the rest. We have watched them closely too. But 'tis a right usurped by losers, to think the winners knaves. We'll have more manhood in us.
Bev. I know not what to think. This night has stung me to the quick—blasted my reputation too. I have bound my honour to these vipers; played meanly upon credit, till I tired them; and now they shun me, to rifle one another. What's to be done?
Stu. Nothing. My counsels have been fatal.
Bev. By heaven! I'll not survive this shame—Traitor! 'tis You have brought it on me. (Taking hold of him.) Shew me the means to save me, or I'll commit a murder here, and next upon myself.
Stu. Why, do it then, and rid me of ingratitude.
Bev. Prithee, forgive this language—I speak I know not what. Rage and despair are in my heart, and hurry me to madness. My home is horror to me—I'll not return to't. Speak quickly; tell me, if in this wreck of fortune, one hope remains? Name it, and be my oracle.