[Enter FLORENCE and BARBARA, R. He salutes her distantly.]

Fair mistress, thus
I claim a young acquaintance, that hath grown
Old in long absence.

Flor. [Rushing to him] Arthur! dearest.  Arthur!  How strange!  Dear cousin!  Sir!  I wish’d to see you, Needing protection—­nay!  I was to blame, Too hasty, you must think me bold indeed!

Arth. [Aside] Is all her nature, art?—­How beautiful! [Aloud.] Dear Florence. [Attempts to take her hand warmly, she bows.] I have scarcely words to speak.  Cousin!  I’ll be your champion. [Aloud.]

Flor. There is nought
In which you can assist me?  I have come
Here, cousin, to entreat you, take this money. 
Indeed, you can repay me quite soon, when
Your brother is more just.  It is for him
That I would give it—­

Arth. For him? yes! you are Betroth’d?

Flor. My father wills so—­

Arth. I need not This money—­

Flor. Cousin, take it.  You are proud.  Will you refuse me?

Arth. ’Tis my character To doubt your sex, and yet from you I’d take it, But that I need it not in truth.

Flor. Why doubt us?  Ah! cousin, I have heard you have been wild, And so think women false, as you deceive them.

Arth. That you have heard is false!

Flor. I thought so.  Now
I could indeed imagine it were true. 
Because, perchance, you’ve lightly won some hearts,
Thus you must be severe and scoff at all,
As if you had good reason!—­It is proof
Of an ungenerous mind or scatter’d heart.

Arth. Fair cousin, at your feet I would recant Mine error.

Flor. ’Tis polite, sir, thus to yield All your experience.

Arth. Nay, then!  Do you not Believe a man may once love faithfully?

Flor. ’Twere base to doubt it—­yet I think not you:  You know you could not tell if it were true, Your love might be a jest. [She goes up the stage.]

Arth. [following FLORENCE.] By heaven!  No.

[WILLIAM and BARBARA come forward.]

Will. Young woman!  I doubt not your attachment, nor wonder at your love; but it cannot be returned.  Principle forbids; and this heart is blighted.

Barb. Plighted, or not, I want none of it.  What nonsense the man talks!

Will. This beard—­what think you of it?

Barb. That it is red.

Will. Yet ’tis not for you.

Barb. I would humbly desire so.

Will. Do you know, lively rustic, that the beard of Mars, the god of war, is auburnly inclined?  It is much affected by the ladies of the south.

Barb. I would they had it then, for it is an abhorr’d thing here.