_Eger_. Why ay! she is sprightly, good humoured, and, though whimsical, and often too high in her colouring of characters, and in the trifling business of the idle world,--yet I think she has principles, and a good heart,--[_with a glow of conjugal tenderness._] but in a partner for life, Sidney, (you know your own precept, and your own judgment)--affection, capricious in its nature, must have something even in the external manners,--nay in the very mode, not only of beauty, but of virtue itself-- which both heart and judgment must approve, or our happiness in that delicate point cannot be lasting. _Sid_. I grant it. _Eger_. And that mode,--that amiable essential I never can meet--but in Constantia. You sigh. _Sid_. No. I only wish that Constantia had a fortune equal to yours. But pray, Charles, suppose I had been so indiscreet as to have agreed to marry you to Constantia--would _she_ have consented, think you? _Eger_. That I cannot say positively,--but I suppose so. _Sid_. Did you never speak to her upon that subject then? _Eger_. In general terms only;--never directly requested her consent in form,--[_he starts into a warmth of amorous resolution._] but I will this very moment--for I have no asylum from my father's arbitrary design, but my Constantia's arms.--Pray do not stir from hence:--I will return instantly. I know she will submit to your advice--and I am sure you will persuade her to my wish, as my life, my peace, my earthly happiness, depend on my Constantia. [_Exit._ _Sid_. Poor Charles! he little dreams that I love Constantia too,--but to what degree I knew not myself, till he importuned me to join their hands.--Yes--I love--but must not be a rival; for he is dear to me as fraternal affinity:--my benefactor--my friend--and that name is sacred:-- it is our better self; and ever ought to be preferred;--for the man who gratifies his passions at the expence of his friend's happiness, wants but a head to contrive--for he has a heart capable of the blackest vice. _Enter_ BETTY, _running up to_ Sidney. _Bet_. I beg pardon for my intrusion, sir. I hope, sir, I do not disturb your reverence! _Sid_. Not in the least, Mrs. Betty. _Bet_. I humbly beg you will excuse me, sir:--but I wanted to break my mind to your honour--about a scruple that lies upon my conscience:--and indeed I should not have presumed to trouble you, sir, but that I know you are my young master's friend,--and my old master's friend,--and indeed--a friend to the whole family: [_runs up to him and curtsies very low._] for to give you your due, sir, you are as good a preacher as ever went into a pulpit. _Sid_. Ha, ha, ha! do you think so, Mrs. Betty? _Bet_. Ay, in truth do I; and as good a gentleman too as ever came into a family, and one that never gives a servant a bad word, nor that does any one an ill turn neither behind their back, nor before their face.