* * * * *

SCENE.—­Mrs. Selby’s chamber.

MRS. FRAMPTON.  KATHERINE.

Mrs. F. Did I express myself in terms so strong?

Kath. As nothing could have more affrighted me.

Mrs. F. Think it a hurt friend’s jest, in retribution
Of a suspected cooling hospitality. 
And, for my staying here, or going hence,
(Now I remember something of our argument,)
Selby and I can settle that between us. 
You look amazed.  What if your husband, child,
Himself has courted me to stay?

Kath. You move My wonder and my pleasure equally.

Mrs. F. Yes, courted me to stay, waived all objections,
Made it a favor to yourselves; not me,
His troublesome guest, as you surmised.  Child, child,
When I recall his flattering welcome, I
Begin to think the burden of my presence
Was—­

Kath.  What, for Heaven—­

Mrs. F. A little, little spice
Of jealousy—­that’s all—­an honest pretext,
No wife need blush for.  Say that you should see,
(As oftentimes we widows take such freedoms,
Yet still on this side virtue,) in a jest
Your husband pat me on the cheek, or steal
A kiss, while you were by,—­not else, for virtue’s sake.

Kath. I could endure all this, thinking my husband Meant it in sport—­

Mrs. F. But if in downright earnest
(Putting myself out of the question here)
Your Selby, as I partly do suspect,
Own’d a divided heart—­

Kath. My own would break—­

Mrs. F. Why, what a blind and witless fool it is, That will not see its gains, its infinite gains—­

Kath. Gain in a loss. 
                            Or mirth in utter desolation!

Mrs. F. He doating on a face—­suppose it mine,
Or any other’s tolerably fair—­
What need you care about a senseless secret?

Kath. Perplex’d and fearful woman!  I in part
Fathom your dangerous meaning.  You have broke
The worse than iron band, fretting the soul,
By which you held me captive.  Whether my husband
Is what you gave him out, or your fool’d fancy
But dreams he is so, either way I am free.

Mrs. F. It talks it bravely, blazons out its shame;
A very heroine while on its knees;
Rowe’s Penitent, an absolute Calista?

Kath. Not to thy wretched self these tears are falling;
But to my husband, and offended Heaven,
Some drops are due—­and then I sleep in peace,
Relieved from frightful dreams, my dreams though sad
          
                                               [Exit.

Mrs. F. I have gone too far.  Who knows but in this mood
She may forestall my story, win on Selby
By a frank confession?—­and the time draws on
For our appointed meeting.  The game’s desperate,
For which I play.  A moment’s difference
May make it hers or mine.  I fly to meet him. [Exit.