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        Man.

        How's the poor lady now?

        Woman.

                                She's poorly still.

        I fancy every day she's growing thinner.

        I am sure she's wasting steadily.

        Man.

                                 Has the count

        Been here again to-day?

        Woman.

                                       No. And I think

        He will not come again. She was so proud

        The last time he was here, you would have thought

        She was a queen at least.

        Man.

                              Remember, wife,

        What she has been. Trouble like that throws down

        The common folk like us all of a heap:

        With folks like her, that are high bred and blood,

        It sets the mettle up.

        Woman.

                                All very right;

        But take her as she was, she might do worse

        Than wed the Count Nembroni.

        Man.

                                             Possible.

        But are you sure there is no other man

        Stands in his way?

        Woman.

                          How can I tell? So be,

        He should be here to help her. What she'll do

        I am sure I do not know. We cannot keep her.

        And for her work, she does it far too well

        To earn a living by it. Her times are changed—

        She should not give herself such prideful airs.

        Man.

        Come, come, old wife! you women are so hard

        On one another! You speak fair for men,

        And make allowances; but when a woman

        Crosses your way, you speak the worst of her.

        But where is this you're going then to-night?

        Do they want me to go as well as you?

        Woman.

        Yes, you must go, or else it is no use.

        They cannot give the money to me, except

        My husband go with me. He told me so.

        Man.

        Well, wife, it's worth the going—but to see:

        I don't expect a groat to come of it.

        Host.

        That's a queer customer you've got upstairs!

        What the deuce is he?

        Hostess.

                             What is that to us?

        He always pays his way, and handsomely.

        I wish there were more like him.

        Host.

                             Has he been

        At home all day?

        Hostess.

                         He has not stirred a foot

        Across the threshold. That's his only fault—

        He's always in the way.

        Host.

                         What does he do?

        Hostess.

        Paces about the room, or sits at the window.

        I sometimes make an errand to the cupboard,

        To see what he's about: he looks annoyed,

        But does not speak a word.

        Host.

                                       He must be crazed,

        Or else in hiding for some scrape or other.

        Hostess.

        He has a wild look in his eye sometimes;

        But sure he would not sit so much in the dark,

        If he were mad, or anything on his conscience;

        And though he does not say much, when he speaks

        A civiller man ne'er came in woman's way.

        Host.

        Oh! he's all right, I warrant. Is the wine come?