Mrs. C. What, sir, do you mean the report of——
Crab. No, ma’am, that’s not it—Miss Nicely is going to be married to her own footman.
Mrs. C. Impossible!
Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin.
Sir B. ’Tis very true, ma’am; everything is fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke.
Crab. Yes; and they do say there were very pressing reasons for it.
Lady S. Why, I have heard something of this before.
Mrs. C. It can’t be; and I wonder any one should believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely.
Sir B. Oh, lud! ma’am, that’s the very reason ’twas believed at once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that everybody was sure there was some reason for it at bottom.
Mrs. C. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp, as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny sickly reputation that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes.