Tiffany. Yes, ma’am,—but I assure you—
Helen. What! you stay to be whispered to again, I suppose. [Exit Tiffany.
Charles. Let me explain this,—oh, Helen—can you be surprised?
Helen. No, sir, I can’t be surprised at any thing after what I have just witnessed—
Charles. On my soul, it was excess of joy at hearing you still lov’d me, that led me into this confounded scrape.
Helen. Sir, you should not believe it—I don’t love you. I wont love you,—and after what I have just seen, you can’t expect I should love you—
Charles. Helen! Helen! you make no allowance for the fears of a man who loves you to distraction. I have borne a great deal, and can bear but very little more—
Helen. Poor man! you’re sadly loaded with grievances, to be sure; and by and by, I suppose, like a horse or a mule, or some such stubborn animal, having more than you can bear, you’ll kick a little, and plunge a little, and then down on your knees again!
Charles. I gloried even in that humble posture, while you taught me to believe you loved me.
Helen. ’Tis true, my heart was once your own, but I never can, nor ought to forgive you—for thinking me capable of being unfaithful to you.