Aust. Has passion drown'd all sense, all memory?
She was affianc'd to your son, young Edmund.
Count. She never lov'd my son. Our importunity
Won her consent, but not her heart, to Edmund.
Aust. Did not that speak her soul pre-occupied?
Some undivulg'd and deep-felt preference?
Count. Ha! thou hast rous'd a thought: This Theodore!
(Dull that I was, not to perceive it sooner!)
He is her paramour! by Heaven, she loves him!
Her coldness to my son; her few tears for him;