Wife.—­How is that, pray?

Husb.—­Why, give up all faithfully to his creditors, as soon as he finds there is a deficiency in his stock, and yet that there is enough left to pay them.

Wife.—­Well, I don’t understand those things, but I desire you would tell me what it is troubles you now; and if it be any thing of that kind, yet I think you should let me know it.

Husb.—­Why should I trouble you with it?

Wife.—­It would be very unkind to let me know nothing till it comes and swallows you up and me too, all on a sudden; I must know it, then; pray tell it me now.

Husb.—­Why, then, I will tell you; indeed, I am not going to break, and I hope I am in no danger of it, at least not yet.

Wife.—­I thank you, my dear, for that; but still, though it is some satisfaction to me to be assured of so much, yet I find there is something in it; and your way of speaking is ambiguous and doubtful.  I entreat you, be plain and free with me.  What is at the bottom of it?—­why won’t you tell me?—­what have I done, that I am not to be trusted with a thing that so nearly concerns me?

Husb.—­I have told you, my dear; pray be easy; I am not going to break, I tell you.

Wife.—­Well, but let us talk a little more seriously of it; you are not going to break, that is, not just now, not yet, you said; but, my dear, if it is then not just at hand, but may happen, or is in view at some distance, may not some steps be taken to prevent it for the present, and to save us from it at last too.

Husb.—­What steps could you think of, if that were the case?

Wife.—­Indeed it is not much that is in a wife’s power, but I am ready to do what lies in me, and what becomes me; and first, pray let us live lower.  Do you think I would live as I do, if I thought your income would not bear it?  No, indeed.

Husb.—­You have touched me in the most sensible part, my dear; you have found out what has been my grief; you need make no further inquiries.

Wife.—­Was that your grief?—­and would you never be so kind to your wife as to let her know it?

Husb.—­How could I mention so unkind a thing to you?

Wife.—­Would it not have been more unkind to have let things run on to destruction, and left your wife to the reproach of the world, as having ruined you by her expensive living?

Husb.—­That’s true, my dear; and it may be I might have spoke to you at last, but I could not do it now; it looks so cruel and so hard to lower your figure, and make you look little in the eyes of the world, for you know they judge all by outsides, that I could not bear it.

Wife.—­It would be a great deal more cruel to let me run on, and be really an instrument to ruin, my husband, when, God knows, I thought I was within the compass of your gettings, and that a great way; and you know you always prompted me to go fine, to treat handsomely, to keep more servants, and every thing of that kind.  Could I doubt but that you could afford it very well?