"Madam!"
"Who is the madam you are imploring?"
"Dear Mrs. Mountstuart!"
"Well?"
"I shall fall in your esteem. Perhaps you will help me. No one else can. I am a prisoner: I am compelled to continue this imposture. Oh, I shun speaking much: you object to it and I dislike it: but I must endeavour to explain to you that I am unworthy of the position you think a proud one."
"Tut-tut; we are all unworthy, cross our arms, bow our heads; and accept the honours. Are you playing humble handmaid? What an old organ-tune that is! Well? Give me reasons."
"I do not wish to marry."
"He's the great match of the county!"
"I cannot marry him."
"Why, you are at the church door with him! Cannot marry him?"