all your little difficulties,
Your girlish scrapes? I was the scape-goat still,
To fetch you off; kept all your secrets, some,
Perhaps, since then--

_Kath_. No more of that, for mercy,
If you'd not have me, sinking at your feet,
Cleave the cold earth for comfort. [_Kneels_.

_Mrs. F._ This to me?
This posture to your friend had better suited
The orphan Katherine in her humble school-days
To the _then_ rich heiress, than the wife of Selby,
Of wealthy Mr. Selby,
To the poor widow Frampton, sunk as she is.
Come, come,
'Twas something, or 'twas nothing, that I said;
I did not mean to fright you, sweetest bedfellow!
You once were so, but Selby now engrosses you.
I'll make him give you up a night or so;
In faith I will: that we may lie, and talk
Old tricks of school-days over.

_Kath._ Hear me, madam--

_Mrs. F._ Not by that name. Your friend--

_Kath._ My truest friend,
And savior of my honor!

_Mrs. F._ This sounds better;
You still shall find me such.

_Kath._ That you have graced
Our poor house with your presence hitherto,
Has been my greatest comfort, the sole solace
Of my forlorn and hardly guess'd estate.
You have been pleased
To accept some trivial hospitalities,
In part of payment of a long arrear
I owe to you, no less than for my life.

_Mrs. F._ You speak my services too large.

_Kath._ Nay, less;
For what an abject thing were life to me
Without your silence on my dreadful secret!
And I would wish the league we have renew'd
Might be perpetual--

_Mrs. F._ Have a care, fine madam! [_Aside._

_Kath._ That one house still might hold us. But my husband
Has shown himself of late--

_Mrs. F._ How, Mistress Selby?

_Kath._ Not, not impatient. You misconstrue him.
He honors, and he loves, nay, he must love
The friend of his wife's youth. But there are moods,
In which--

_Mrs. F._ I understand you;--in which husbands,
And wives that love, may wish to be alone,
To nurse the tender fits of new-born dalliance,
After a five years' wedlock.

_Kath._ Was that well,
Or charitably put? do these pale cheeks
Proclaim a wanton blood? This wasting form
Seem a fit theatre for Levity
To play his love-tricks on; and act such follies,
As even in Affection's first bland Moon
Have less of grace than