MELLEFONT. You think, then, that it was a secret? SARA. But not one which concerns me. And that must suffice for me. MELLEFONT. You are only too good. Let me nevertheless reveal my secret to you. The letter contained a few lines from a relative of mine, who has heard of my being here. She passes through here on her way to London, and would like to see me. She has begged at the same time to be allowed the honour of paying you a visit. SARA. It will always be a pleasure to me to make the acquaintance of the respected members of your family. But consider for yourself, whether I can yet appear before one of them without blushing. MELLEFONT. Without blushing? And for what? For your love to me? It is true, Sara, you could have given your love to a nobler or a richer man. You must be ashamed that you were content to give your heart for another heart only, and that in this exchange you lost sight of your happiness. SARA. You must know yourself how wrongly you interpret my words. MELLEFONT. Pardon me, Sara; if my interpretation is wrong, they can have no meaning at all. SARA. What is the name of your relation? MELLEFONT. She is--Lady Solmes. You will have heard me mention the name before. SARA. I don't remember. MELLEFONT. May I beg you to see her? SARA. Beg me? You can command me to do so. MELLEFONT. What a word! No, Sara, she shall not have the happiness of seeing you. She will regret it, but she must submit to it. Sara has her reasons, which I respect without knowing them. SARA. How hasty you are, Mellefont! I shall expect Lady Solmes, and do my best to show myself worthy of the honour of her visit. Are you content? MELLEFONT. Ah, Sara! let me confess my ambition. I should like to show you to the whole world! And were I not proud of the possession of such a being, I should reproach myself with not being able to appreciate her value. I will go and bring her to you at once. (_Exit_.) SARA (_alone_). I hope she will not be one of those proud women, who are so full of their own virtue that they believe themselves above all failings. With one single look of contempt they condemn us, and an equivocal shrug of the shoulders is all the pity we seem to deserve in their eyes. Scene III. Waitwell, Sara. BETTY (_behind the scenes_). Just come in here, if you must speak to her yourself! SARA (_looking round_).