Gilbert.
Pray, Mamma, do not ask me; it is a secret at present.
Mamma.
Then I never desire to know secrets; and you, I am persuaded, will do nothing wrong; and as I have no anxiety upon that account, I should be ashamed, if mere curiosity made me desirous to know what you wish to conceal. Nothing, I think, is so contemptible as that sort of curiosity, which makes people want to know what every one says and does, and which grows more impatient in proportion as we think the person wishes us not to know.
Gilbert.
Nay, Mamma, I have no real secrets from you, only I wish nobody to know just now—
Mamma.
I am quite satisfied, my dear boy.
Lydia.