_O. Book._ Oh, Mr. Frederick! too late, too late was our care; they met last night, and then the fatal act was done. You'll excuse, sir, a father's sorrow----I can't speak much, but you may guess what I hope from you. _Fred._ You may depend upon ingenuous usage in the prosecution. I'm going instantly to Penelope's with this learned gentleman, to know what she can say to this matter. I desired you, in the note I sent you, to purchase the favour of your son's being brought thither, where he and you may be witnesses of what shall pass. I seek not his blood, nor would neglect a justice to my deceased friend. _O. Book._ I believe my son and the rest are going thither ere this; and I desire this worthy serjeant's favour and advice, since we both mean the same thing--only to act with honour, if his life may be saved. _Love._ I'll do what's just to the deceased and the survivor. _O. Book._ I'll leave you, but will take care to come in just afore the criminals arrive. [_Exit._ _Love._ The poor old gentleman! Prithee, let's go; I long to see my lovely torment, Penelope. _Fred._ I'll but leave word within. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--PENELOPE'S _Lodgings._ _Enter_ PENELOPE _and_ VICTORIA. _Pen._ It seems Simon lay out all night, and was carried away by the watch with some gentlemen in a quarrel. _Vict._ I fancy the men who are always for showing their valour are like the women who are always talking of their chastity, because they are conscious of their defect in it. _Pen._ Right; for we are not apt to raise arguments but about what we think is disputable. _Vict._ Ay, ay, they whose honour is a sore part are more fearful of being touched than they in whom 'tis only a tender one. But tell me honestly, Penelope, should poor Lovemore be in this rencounter, and that for your sake, would it have no effect upon you in his favour? _Pen._ I don't know how to answer you; but I find something in that reflection which acquaints me 'tis very hard for one to know one's own heart. [_Sighs._ _Vict._ However, let your heart answer me one question more, as well as it can. Does it love me as well as ever it did? _Pen._ Does not, madam, that question proceed from a change in your own? _Vict._ It does, Penelope; I own it does----I had a long conflict with myself on my pillow last night. _Pen._ What were your thoughts there? _Vict._ That I owed it to our friendship to acknowledge to you that all the pleasure I once had in you is vanished. Ah, Penelope! I'm sorry for every good quality you have. _Pen._ Since you are so frank, I must confess to you something very like this. But however I envied that sprightly, ingenuous, native beauty of yours, I see it now so much the figure of your mind that I can conquer, I think I can, any inclination in myself that opposes the happiness of so sincere a friend. _Vict._ Explain yourself, my dear.