e married in a few days, as you
are, I should scarce have found time to visit my friends.

MARIA. Do you think, then, that there is an impropriety in it?--How
should you dispose of your time?

CHARLOTTE. Why, I should be shut up in my chamber; and my head would so
run upon--upon--upon the solemn ceremony that I was to pass through!--I
declare, it would take me above two hours merely to learn that little
monosyllable--_Yes._--Ah! my dear, your sentimental imagination does not
conceive what that little tiny word implies.

MARIA. Spare me your raillery, my sweet friend; I should love your
agreeable vivacity at any other time.

CHARLOTTE. Why, this is the very time to amuse you. You grieve me to see
you look so unhappy.

MARIA. Have I not reason to look so?

CHARLOTTE. [What new grief distresses you?

MARIA. Oh! how sweet it is, when the heart is borne down with
misfortune, to recline and repose on the bosom of friendship! Heaven
knows that, although it is improper for a young lady to praise a
gentleman, yet I have ever concealed Mr. Dimple's foibles, and spoke of
him as of one whose reputation I expected would be linked with mine: but
his late conduct towards me has turned my coolness into contempt. He
behaves as if he meant to insult and disgust me; whilst my father, in
the last conversation on the subject of our marriage, spoke of it as a
matter which laid near his heart, and in which he would not bear
contradiction.

CHARLOTTE. This works well: oh! the generous Dimple. I'll endeavour to
excite her to discharge him. [_Aside._] But, my dear friend, your
happiness depends on yourself. Why don't you discard him? Though the
match has been of long standing, I would not be forced to make myself
miserable: no parent in the world should oblige me to marry the man I
did not like.

MARIA. Oh! my dear, you never lived with your parents, and do not know
what influence a father's frowns have upon a daughter's heart. Besides,
what have I to allege against Mr. Dimple, to justify myself to the
world? He carries himself so smoothly, that every one would impute the
blame to me, and call me capricious.

CHARLOTTE. And call her capricious! Did ever such an objection start
into the heart of woman? for my part, I wish I had fifty lovers to
discard, for no other reason than because I did not fancy them.] My dear
Maria, you will forgive me; I know your candour and confidence in me;
but I have at times, I confess, been led to suppos