Mrs. Pinch. What, do you think I am a fool?
Pinch. [Aside.] She's afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she's unwilling.—[Aloud.] But you had best begin.
Mrs. Pinch. Indeed, and indeed, but I won't, so I won't.
Pinch. Why?
Mrs. Pinch. Because he's in town; you may send for him if you will.
Pinch. Very well, you would have him brought to you; is it come to this? I say, take the pen and write, or you'll provoke me.
Mrs. Pinch. Lord, what d'ye make a fool of me for? Don't I know that letters are never writ but from the country to London, and from London into the country? Now he's in town, and I am in town too; therefore I can't write to him, you know.
Pinch. [Aside.] So, I am glad it is no worse; she is innocent enough yet.—[Aloud.] Yes, you may, when your husband bids you, write letters to people that are in town.
Mrs. Pinch. O, may I so? then I'm satisfied.
Pinch. Come, begin:—"Sir"—[Dictates.