_Mrs. Bev._ You would resent for both then? But know, Sir, My
injuries are my own, and do not need a champion.

_Stu._ Be not too hasty, madam. I come not in resentment, but for
acquittance. You thought me poor; and to the feigned distresses of a
friend gave up your jewels.

_Mrs. Bev._ I gave them to a husband.

_Stu._ Who gave them to a--

_Mrs. Bev._ What? Whom did he give them to?

_Stu._ A mistress.

_Mrs. Bev._ No; on my life he did not.

_Stu._ Himself confessed it, with curses on her avarice.

_Mrs. Bev._ I'll not believe it. He has no mistress--or if he has,
why is it told to Me?

_Stu._ To guard you against insults. He told me, that to move you to
compliance, he forged that letter, pretending I was ruined; ruined
by Him too. The fraud succeeded; and what a trusting wife bestowed
in pity, was lavished on a wanton.

_Mrs. Bev._ Then I am lost indeed; and my afflictions are too
powerful for me. His follies I have borne without upbraiding, and
saw the approach of poverty without a tear. My affections, my strong