Mrs. Ly. (Sobbing.)—My wretched fate is fixed; I have suffered beyond the bounds of endurance, and can suffer no more.
Mrs. Cod. My friends!—ladies!—bless me, we are all in tears! this must not be; what would our husbands say if they knew of our weakness? No, no—we must not break our hearts for such creatures: we must rally and laugh. Ha! ha! ha! laugh, ladies, laugh—and make your arrangements for the future with resolution and spirit. You, Mrs. Lynx, will, I presume, for the present lodge here. I shall now step to my friends and return in half an hour. Mrs. Dove, you are a sensible and well-educated woman; pray accompany me, and give me your advice! we may hear of Mr. Dove while we are gone. Mrs. Y., you, of course, will stay with Mrs. Dismal for the present. Good bye, my dears—good bye! Now pray, don’t fret; be women—be women—don’t weep about a man. What are men?—mere self-elected law-makers. Don’t despair, ladies; the time is fast coming when we shall have voices in the legislation of the country, and then let them look to their questions. The wrongs done to our sex, for centuries, shall be well revenged in the first session.
[Exit with MRS. DOVE, L. H.
Mrs. Y. Good bye, Mrs. Lynx; if you wish to see us, we are only next door to you—you know. And pray, if you hear anything of our husbands apprize us immediately, and we will do the same for you.—(Taking MRS. DISMAL’S arm.)—Now, if Mr. Dismal passes the house again, I will call him in.
Mrs. Dis. No, no; you shall not.
Mrs. Y. I will.
Mrs. Dis. I won’t hear of it.
Mrs. Y. I’m not used to contradict, but you must. Though I am wretched, if I can assist in restoring happiness to others, Mrs. Frederick Younghusband is not the woman to be idle in such a matter. So come, dear D., smile and look pleasant!
[Exit with MRS. DISMAL, L. H. D.
Mrs. Lynx. (Alone.)—Now what course shall I take?—that my husband is guilty, I have abundant of proof—and that I can never, never live with him again, is equally sure. I have sought a refuge here, in a miserable lodging-house; for where had I to go? Where could an outraged and a homeless wife seek for shelter? with friends—with relations? No, no; I could not endure that bitter humiliation. If I am to be wretched, it shall be unseen and alone; I’ll have no cold and affected sympathy—no pity from my kindred. Pity! there is no such feeling! ’tis disguised triumph, and we know it too; else why does the soul rise up within us and spurn it?—(Looking off, R. H., F. E.)—Ah, he here! the writer of the letter I received yesterday? then he has traced me to this house. What shall I do? he must not see me. Hark!—(listens)—he is making enquiries concerning me; how shall I avoid him? To retaliate upon my husband, I affected to encourage that man, and he thus presumes upon it. But now, though I shall never return again to my home, I must avoid all that would make me cease to respect myself—I’ll to my room.