MRS. G. Oh, Betsy, when I think of that, I could tear his eyes out. A man, Betsy, that I thought the most faithful creature woman ever was blessed with, to deceive me so. A working model of a husband that I may say I made out of nothing. BETSY. Ah, mum, I know what husbands is made of! I was once accidentally married myself for three weeks to a sea cap'n, who took me, mum, as his mate--but I diskivered I was only his second mate, for he'd got another wife alive, mum--and so he slipped hisself through the wedding ring that way. Oh! mum, husbands isn't to be trusted no ways. MRS. G. 'Twas your experience and advice, Betsy, that put me upon this plan of trying Mr. Greenfinch's fidelity. Before he went to Paris about that legacy left him by his aunt, there wasn't a more dutiful little husband in Peckham Rye. BETSY. No, more there wasn't, mum. But after he'd been a month in Paris, he wrote to say he'd got into the hands of the French lawyers, and couldn't return so soon as he expected. MRS. G. Upon which I resolved to run over to Paris, if 'twas only for a day--for I thought he must be miserable without his wife. BETSY. A very popular delusion amongst women, mum. MRS. G. And so as you know, Betsy, I took you with me and crossed to Boulogne. What I suffered from the roughness of the waves and the custom-house officers I need not repeat. I didn't however think of anything but the joyful surprise it would be to Mr. Greenfinch when I should drop suddenly like a lump of sugar out of heaven into his solitary tea. BETSY. Yes, mum, but you know I had my suspicions that it wasn't the lawyers kept master in Paris--so I persuaded you to take lodgings opposite the hotel where he was stopping, and keep a watchful eye on his proceedings from the window, with your veil down. MRS. G. Yes, Betsy, that was certainly your plan,--and what has been the consequence? The very first day my gentleman kissed his hand to me--the second day he performed a love pantomime at his window for my diversion--and the third day he sent me a daguerreotype portrait of himself backed by a Westphalia ham. BETSY. And before the week was out you had induced him to run away with you. MRS. G. I'll never forgive him that. BETSY. Of course you won't--you've too much spirit to forgive any man, much less a husband. Now, mum, if you'll help me in a little plan I've hit upon, I think we'll torment him to that degree that he'll never hear a Countess mentioned without trembling. MRS. G. I'll do anything, Betsy, to make the little wretch miserable. BETSY. Well then, mum, this is my plan. _GREENFINCH speaks outside, L. 3 E._ MRS. G. Hist, I hear him returning; run into my room and I'll come to you presently. (_draws down her veil_) _Exit BETSY, 2 E. R._ _Enter GREENFINCH, 3 E. L._