“Dishonour’d!” replied Zelida, bursting into tears. “Dishonour’d! What a shock! I cannot bear it.⁠—Oh! accursed Bonza, ’tis thou that hast ruin’d me. I loved my husband, I was born virtuous; I should have loved him still, if thou hadst not made a wicked use of thy ministry and my confidence. Dishonour’d, dear Sophia!⁠—”

She had not power to make an end. Sobs intercepted her words, and she fell on the carpet, quite in despair. As soon as Zelida recovered her speech, she cried out in a lamentable tone: “Alas! my dear Sophia, I shall die⁠—I must die. No, I shall never survive my reputation.”

“But Zelida, my dear Zelida, do not be in a hurry to die: perhaps⁠—” said Sophia.

“No perhaps shall stop me, I must die.”

“But perhaps one might⁠—”

“One might do nothing, I tell you⁠—But speak, my dear, what might one do?”

“Perhaps one might hinder a Toy from talking.”