_Enter MARIANNE, and LETTY, from the House._
_Mari._ But I tell you I will come out--I didn't come to Bath to be confined, nor I won't--I hate all their company, but sweet Miss Courtney's.
_Letty._ I declare, Miss Marianne, you grow worse and worse every day, your country manners will be the ruin of you.
_Mari._ Don't you talk about that, Letty--It was a shame to bring me up in the country--if I had been properly taken care of, I might have done great things--I might have married the poet I danced with at the ball--But it's all over now.--I shall never get a husband, and, what's worse, my aunt did it on purpose.--She ruined me, Letty, that nobody else might.
_Letty._ How you talk!--I hope Miss Courtney hasn't taught you all this?
_Mari._ No,--she's a dear creature,--she has taught me many things; but nothing improper, I'm sure.
_Letty._ Pray, has she taught you why she never plays any tune but the one we heard just now?
_Mari._ Yes--and if you'll keep it a secret, I'll tell you, Letty; Mr Harry Neville taught it her last summer,--and now she is always playing it, because it puts her in mind of the dear man;--when it is ended, don't you observe how she sighs from the bottom of her dear little heart?
_Letty._ Why, I thought they had quarrelled?
_Mari._ So they have--she won't see him, and I believe my aunt, Lady Waitfor't, has been the occasion of it;--poor Mr Neville!--I wish I could assist him, for indeed, Letty, I always pity any body that is crossed in love--it may be one's own case one day or other, you know.
_Letty._ True--and for the same reason, I suppose, you rejoice when it is successful.--I'm sure now the intended marriage of Lady Waitfor't and Lord Scratch gives you great pleasure.
_Mari._ What! the country gentleman who has lately come to his title? No, if you'll believe me, I don't like him at all,--he's a sour old fellow--is always abusing our sex, and thinks there is only one good woman under heaven:--now, I'm sure that's a mistake, for I know I'm a good woman, and I think, Letty, you are another.
_Letty._ Yes,--I hope so, though I confess I think your aunt is better than either of us.
_Mari._ More shame for you--she is a woman of sentiment, and hums you over with her flourishes about purity, and feelings.--Feelings!--'faith, she ought to be ashamed of herself--no other woman would talk in that manner.