Mrs. B. I understand that compliment perfectly, and thank you for it, my dear. I must own I can bear anything better than irony.
Mr. B. Irony? my dear, I was perfectly in earnest.
Mrs. B. Yes, yes; in earnest; so I perceive; I may naturally be dull of apprehension, but my feelings are quick enough; I comprehend too well. Yes, it is impossible to judge of a woman before marriage, or to guess what sort of a wife she will make. I presume you speak from experience; you have been disappointed yourself, and repent your choice.
Mr. B. My dear, what did I say that was like this? Upon my word, I meant no such thing. I really was not thinking of you in the least.
Mrs. B. No, you never think of me now. I can easily believe that you were not thinking of me in the least.
Mr. B. But I said that only to prove to you that I could not be thinking ill of you, my dear.
Mrs. B. But I would rather that you thought ill of me than that you should not think of me at all.
Mr. B. Well, my dear, I will even think ill of you if that will please you.
Mrs. B. Do you laugh at me? When it comes to this I am wretched indeed. Never man laughed at the woman he loved. As long as you had the slightest remains of love for me you could not make me an object of derision; ridicule and love are incompatible, absolutely incompatible. Well, I have done my best, my very best, to make you happy, but in vain. I see I am not cut out to be a good wife. Happy, happy Mrs. Granby!
Mr. B. Happy, I hope sincerely, that she will be with my friend; but my happiness must depend on you, my love; so, for my sake, if not for your own, be composed, and do not torment yourself with such fancies.