Ursula. Like a good woman, sir.
Butts. She yet is that!
But have you never learned her lover's name?
Ursula. Nay, I never have.
Butts. 'Tis strange that she
Should fall; and then endeavor to conceal
Her lover! Noble, wise and beautiful,
No other than a man of mark could win her!
Ursula. A three years widow, baby three months old,
A coward run-a-gate of a lover, sir—
Tell me, is there no exception made
By law for widows?
Butts. None, of which I know.
Ursula. The law is hard indeed!
Butts. I wonder if
A rough sea-dog like me might speak a word
For her?
Ursula. Aye, that you might! Go seek the good
Old Doctor Wilson, mercy dwells with him,
And he will aid you, sir.