Mr. B. I am sorry for it, my dear; but I hope you will go and see Mrs. Granby.

Mrs. B. Not I, indeed, my dear.  Who was she?

Mr. B. Miss Cooke.

Mrs. B. Cooke?  But, there are so many Cookes.  Can’t you distinguish her any way?  Has she no Christian name?

Mr. B. Emma, I think.  Yes, Emma.

Mrs. B. Emma Cooke?  No; it can not be my friend Emma Cooke; for I am sure she was cut out for an old maid.

Mr. B. This lady seems to me to be cut out for a good wife.

Mrs. B. Maybe so.  I am sure I’ll never go to see her.  Pray, my dear, how came you to see so much of her?

Mr. B. I have seen very little of her, my dear.  I only saw her two or three times before she was married.

Mrs. B. Then, my dear, how could you decide that she was cut out for a good wife?  I am sure you could not judge of her by seeing her only two or three times, and before she was married.

Mr. B. Indeed, my love, that is a very just observation.

Mrs. B. I understand that compliment perfectly, and thank you for it, my dear.  I must own I can bear anything better than irony.

Mr. B. Irony? my dear, I was perfectly in earnest.

Mrs. B. Yes, yes; in earnest; so I perceive; I may naturally be dull of apprehension, but my feelings are quick enough; I comprehend too well.  Yes, it is impossible to judge of a woman before marriage, or to guess what sort of a wife she will make.  I presume you speak from experience; you have been disappointed yourself, and repent your choice.

Mr. B. My dear, what did I say that was like this?  Upon my word, I meant no such thing.  I really was not thinking of you in the least.

Mrs. B. No, you never think of me now.  I can easily believe that you were not thinking of me in the least.

Mr. B. But I said that only to prove to you that I could not be thinking ill of you, my dear.

Mrs. B. But I would rather that you thought ill of me than that you should not think of me at all.

Mr. B. Well, my dear, I will even think ill of you if that will please you.

Mrs. B. Do you laugh at me?  When it comes to this I am wretched indeed.  Never man laughed at the woman he loved.  As long as you had the slightest remains of love for me you could not make me an object of derision; ridicule and love are incompatible, absolutely incompatible.  Well, I have done my best, my very best, to make you happy, but in vain.  I see I am not cut out to be a good wife.  Happy, happy Mrs. Granby!

Mr. B. Happy, I hope sincerely, that she will be with my friend; but my happiness must depend on you, my love; so, for my sake, if not for your own, be composed, and do not torment yourself with such fancies.

Mrs. B. I do wonder whether this Mrs. Granby is really that Miss Emma Cooke.  I’ll go and see her directly; see her I must.

Mr. B. I am heartily glad of it, my dear; for I am sure a visit to his wife will give my friend Granby real pleasure.