FAIN. Of Mirabell.

MRS. MAR. If I am, is it inconsistent with my love to you that I am
tender of your honour?

FAIN. You would intimate then, as if there were a fellow-feeling
between my wife and him?

MRS. MAR. I think she does not hate him to that degree she would be
thought.

FAIN. But he, I fear, is too insensible.

MRS. MAR. It may be you are deceived.

FAIN. It may be so. I do not now begin to apprehend it.

MRS. MAR. What?

FAIN. That I have been deceived, madam, and you are false.

MRS. MAR. That I am false? What mean you?

FAIN. To let you know I see through all your little arts.--Come,
you both love him, and both have equally dissembled your aversion.
Your mutual jealousies of one another have made you clash till you
have both struck fire. I have seen the warm confession red'ning on
your cheeks, and sparkling from your eyes.