AMANDA.
Nothing, I am convinced.
BERINTHIA.
What, if you found he loved another woman better?
AMANDA.
Well!
BERINTHIA.
Well!—why, were I that thing they call a slighted wife, somebody should run the risk of being that thing they call—a husband. Don’t I talk madly?
AMANDA.
Madly indeed!
BERINTHIA.
Yet I’m very innocent.
AMANDA.
That I dare swear you are. I know how to make allowances for your humour: but you resolve then never to marry again?
BERINTHIA.
Oh no! I resolve I will.
AMANDA.
How so?
BERINTHIA.
That I never may.