Sid.  Ha, ha, ha! why you are a mighty well spoken woman, Mrs. Betty, and I am mightily beholden to you for your good character of me.

Bet.  Indeed, sir, it is no more than you deserve, and what all the world and all the servants say of you.

Sid.  I am much obliged to them, Mrs. Betty.—­But pray what are your commands with me?

Bet.  Why, I’ll tell you, sir:—­to be sure I am but a servant, as a body may say—­and every tub should stand upon its own bottom;—­but—­[she takes hold of him familiarly, looks first about cautiously, and speaks in a low familiar tone of great secrecy.] my young master is now in the china room in close conference with Miss Constantia;—­I know what they are about—­but that is no business of mine—­and therefore I made bold to listen a little—­because you know, sir, one would be sure—­before one took away any body’s reputation.

Sid.  Very true, Mrs. Betty,—­very true indeed.

Bet.  O! heavens forbid that I should take away any young woman’s good name—­unless I had a good reason for it; but, sir, [with great solemnity.] if I am in this place alive, as I listened, with my ear close to the door,—­I heard my young master ask Miss Constantia the plain marriage question—­upon which I started—­and trembled—­nay my very conscience stirred within me so,—­that I could not help peeping through the key-hole.

Sid.  Ha, ha, ha! and so your conscience made you peep through the key-hole, Mrs. Betty?

Bet.  It did indeed, sir:—­and there I saw my young master upon his knees—­lord bless us—­and what do you think he was doing?—­kissing her hand as if he would eat it—­and protesting—­and assuring her—­he knew that you, sir, would consent to the match—­and then the tears ran down her cheeks as fast—­

Sid. Ay!

Bet. They did indeed.  I would not tell your reverence a lie for the world.

Sid.  I believe it, Mrs. Betty—­and what did Constantia say to all this?

Bet.  O!—­O! she is sly enough; she looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth; but all is not gold that glitters; smooth water, you know, sir, runs deepest:—­I am sorry my young master makes such a fool of himself—­ but—­um!—­take my word for it, he is not the man,—­for though she looks as modest as a maid at a christening—­[hesitating.] yet—­ah!—­when sweethearts meet—­in the dusk of the evening—­and stay together a whole hour—­in the dark grove—­and embrace—­and kiss—­and weep at parting,—­why then you know, sir, it is easy to guess all the rest.

Sid. Why did Constantia meet any body in this manner?