moſt generous ſacrifice you have made to love and me, might be leſs injurious to you, by waiting a lucky moment of reconciliation.
Fanny. Huſh! huſh! for heav'n ſake, my dear Lovewell, don't be ſo warm!—your generoſity gets the better of your prudence; you will be heard, and we ſhall be diſcovered.—I am ſatisfied, indeed I am.—Excuſe this weakneſs, this delicacy—this what you will.—My mind's at peace—indeed it is—think no more of it, if you love me!
Lovew. That one word has charm'd me, as it always does, to the moſt implicit obedience; it would be the worſt of ingratitude in me to diſtreſs you a moment. [kiſſes her.
Re-enter Betty.
Betty. [in a low voice.] I'm ſorry to diſturb you.
Fanny. Ha! what's the matter?
Lovew. Have you heard any body?
Betty. Yes, yes, I have, and they have heard you too, or I am miſtaken—if they had ſeen you too, we ſhould have been in a fine quandary.
Fanny. Prithee don't prate now, Betty!
Lovew. What did you hear?
Betty. I was preparing myſelf, as uſual, to take me a little nap.
Lovew. A nap!
Betty. Yes, Sir, a nap; for I watch much better ſo than wide awake; and when I had wrap'd this handkerchief round my head, for fear of the ear-ach, from the key-hole I thought I heard a kind of a ſort of a buzzing, which I firſt took for a gnat, and ſhook my head two or three times, and went ſo with my hand—
Fanny. Well—well—and ſo—
Betty. And ſo, Madam, when I heard Mr. Lovewell a little loud, I heard the buzzing louder too—and pulling off my handkerchief ſoftly—I could hear this fort of noiſe—[makes an indiſtinct noiſe like ſpeaking.
Fanny. Well, and what did they ſay?
