_Counsellor._ Nay! I go, Sir! I go--but by heavens, Sir, you shall pay for this. [Exit. Mrs. DRAVE enters hastily. _Mrs. D._ Good God! Drave, what have you done? the Counsellor flew down stairs in such a fury---- _Mr. D._ A fool! I kept my temper long enough. _Mrs. D._ [in a tone of reproach]. This is one of your usual passions. _Mr. D._ What you call passion in me, is too often necessary to correct the faults you fall into through supineness. _Mrs. D._ How? what is my fault here? _Mr. D._ Between ourselves, my dear, was not thy maternal pride too much flattered, by seeing a crowd of lovers about your daughter? Had you taken less pleasure in their idle flattery, you would have saved us a great deal of trouble about her. _Mrs. D._ And what is the matter now? The girl---- _Mr. D._ Loves one; why then the rest? Why, by high flown compliments, excite her pride? why, by unmeaning sentiments, corrupt her heart? Speak yourself; is that my fault or yours? _Mrs. D._ But let me tell you---- _Mr. D._ Your caprices always cross our best plans; and when all is entangled and lost, who is to assist? who can?--The husband, the father--happy if you still allow him to do that. _Mrs. D._ You speak, as if every thing were lost. _Mr. D._ Lost enough.--How often have I spoken against the affected sensibility inculcated by what are called sentimental novels! I provided good books, but in vain. You were proud of her refined feelings; delighted with her ecstatic sensibility. I advised, warned, entreated; but was not heard. _Mrs. D._ Nature has given her a susceptible heart--will you call its emotions weakness? then-- _Mr. D._ I distinguish, very well. Nature has given her a generous heart, sensible to the miseries of mankind.--It was enough; but not for _you_; and so you have suffered the noblest feelings of an excellent disposition to be perverted by the overstrained and effeminate sensibility of frivolous affectation. _Mrs. D._ [hastily]. Here you are mistaken-- _Mr. D._ [much affected]. From me her heart is entirely alienated---- _Mrs. D._ [sits down]. Oh! you tear my heart with these reproaches! _Mr. D._ [taking her hand]. Forgive me, my dear! I am deeply afflicted, I know no more how to speak to her.--Her heart bleeds; advice is unwelcome. With sufficient grounds for real unhappiness, she increases it by imaginary misfortunes. It was my first care to shew her the world as it is; to dispose her mind to bear her part with fortitude. But she dreams of a world, that does not exist; of a husband, as he never will, never _dare_ be----What comfort can she bring to a husband in his misfortunes? What a mother can she be to her children, who meets affliction with tears instead of courage, and who regards the common pleasures of life as scarcely worthy of a smile? _Mrs. D._ What shall I answer? I see too well I cannot satisfy you.