ject of it claims no more perfection or pre-eminence amongst women, than chalk, lime, or oatmeal may do amongst dainties, because some diseased stomachs do prefer them to all things. Such men as these, we sometimes see attach themselves even to ugliness and infamy, in defiance of honour and decency. With such men as these, women of sense and refinement can never be happy; nay, to be willingly the object of their love is disrespectable. (Pauses.) But you dont care for all this, I suppose? It does well enough for an old uncle to perplex himself with these niceties: it is you yourself the dear man happens to love, and none of those naughty women I have been talking of. So all is very right. (Pauses, and she seems thoughtful.)
Ag. (Assuming a grave and more dignified air.) No, sir, you injure me: prove that his love for me is stronger than his love of virtue, and I will—
With. What will you do, Agnes?
Ag. I will give him up for ever.
With. Ay, there spoke a brave girl! you deserve the best husband in Christendom for this.
Ag. Nay, my husband-hunting will end here. If Harwood endures not the test, I will indeed renounce him, but no other man shall ever fill his place.
With. Well, well, we shall see, we shall see. (Walks up and down. She is thoughtful.) You are very thoughtful, Agnes; I fear I have distressed you.
