you?

Lewis. Then she would still more readily overlook such a trifle.

Augusta. Your lightness must grieve her.

Lewis [laughing]. Then hers would be quite an old-fashioned love.

Augusta [surprised]. Old-fashioned! What am I to understand by that?

Lewis. I mean, [with affected seriousness] a love, such as does not now exist; a true, sincere love.

Augusta. Have you any reason to doubt the existence of such a love?

Lewis. Too many.

Augusta. You have been deceived then?

Lewis. Oh, a thousand times—and undoubtedly shall again.

Augusta. You exaggerate.

Lewis. No, no. With the first object of my passion, I was up to the ears in love. My goddess, to reward my cruel sufferings, allowed me only a place by her chair, and the honour of being marked as her most obedient slave; I sighed, languished, complained, despaired: saw at last, what she meant, and was cured—forever, as I presumed; but, alas! I soon trusted another. Well; there I was made use of to excite the jealousy of her inconstant favourite.

Augusta. You misrepresent, Mr. Brook.

Lewis. Another bright angel then delighted to have an attendant to hand her to her carriage, to accompany her wherever she thought proper; there again I was—but I tire you with all these melancholy instances of my delusion.

Augusta. If all this be true, I pity you.

Lewis. Once, indeed, I got a dangerous illness by my folly; but it cured me effectually.

Augusta. And now you chuse the way of retaliation?

Lewis. Why not?

Augusta. But did you ever reflect how many an innocent breast you robbed of its peace?

Lewis. I cannot reproach myself with that.

Augusta. How many you have plunged in sorrow?

Lewis [goodnaturedly]. Not a single one. As for protestations of love, extravagant praises of their beauty, and so forth, they are mere words of course; ladies know that very well from their childhood—a woman of sense never trusts them.

Augusta. Yet how unfortunate must she be, who loves sincerely!

Lewis. Why so?

Augusta. Who loves only one, and, if deceived, can never love another?

Lewis. Why, indeed, true love holds for ever, and is not dependant upon circumstances. A man may be obliged to marry against his inclination, to make his fortune: but this is a cold prudential bargain, with which love has nothing to do. True love is ever the same; and——But what is the matter with you?

Augusta [with difficulty holding herself upright]. Nothing of consequence.

Lewis. But——

Augusta. You put me in mind of one of my friends. She was deceived so, and now——