'Upon my word,' cries Mrs. Atkinson, 'you use me unkindly, and it is an usage I did not expect at your hands, nor do I know that I have deserved it. I am sure I went to the masquerade with no other view than to oblige you, nor did I say or do anything there which any woman who is not the most confounded prude upon earth would have started at on a much less occasion than what induced me. Well, I declare upon my soul then, that, if I was a man, rather than be married to a woman who makes such a fuss with her virtue, I would wish my wife was without such a troublesome companion.'
'Very possibly, madam, these may be your sentiments,' cries Amelia, 'and I hope they are the sentiments of your husband.'
'I desire, madam,' cries Mrs. Atkinson, 'you would not reflect on my husband. He is a worthy man and as brave a man as yours; yes, madam, and he is now as much a captain.'
She spoke those words with so loud a voice, that Atkinson, who was accidentally going up-stairs, heard them; and, being surprized at the angry tone of his wife's voice, he entered the room, and, with a look of much astonishment, begged to know what was the matter.
'The matter, my dear,' cries Mrs. Atkinson, 'is that I have got a commission for you, and your good old friend here is angry with me for getting it.'
'I have not spirits enow,' cries Amelia, 'to answer you as you deserve; and, if I had, you are below my anger.'
'I do not know, Mrs. Booth,' answered the other, 'whence this great superiority over me is derived; but, if your virtue gives it you, I would have you to know, madam, that I despise a prude as much as you can do a----.'
'Though you have several times,' cries Amelia, 'insulted me with that word, I scorn to give you any ill language in return. If you deserve any bad appellation, you know it, without my telling it you.'
Poor Atkinson, who was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, did all he could to procure peace. He fell upon his knees to his wife, and begged her to compose herself; for indeed she seemed to be in a most furious rage.
While he was in this posture Booth, who had knocked so gently at the door, for fear of disturbing his wife, that he had not been heard in the tempest, came into the room. The moment Amelia saw him, the tears which had been gathering for some time, burst in a torrent from her eyes, which, however, she endeavoured to conceal with her handkerchief. The entry of Booth turned all in an instant into a silent picture, in which the first figure which struck the eyes of the captain was the serjeant on his knees to his wife.
Booth immediately cried, 'What's the meaning of this?' but received no answer. He then cast his eyes towards Amelia, and, plainly discerning her condition, he ran to her, and in a very tender phrase begged to know what was the matter. To which she answered, 'Nothing, my dear, nothing of any consequence.' He replied that he would know, and then turned to Atkinson, and asked the same question.
Atkinson answered, 'Upon my honour, sir, I know nothing of it. Something hath passed between madam and my wife; but what it is I know no more than your honour.'
'Your wife,' said Mrs. Atkinson, 'hath used me cruelly ill, Mr. Booth. If you must be satisfied, that is the whole matter.'
Booth rapt out a great oath, and cried, 'It is impossible; my wife is not capable of using any one ill.'
Amelia then cast herself upon her knees to her husband, and cried, 'For Heaven's sake do not throw yourself into a passion--some few words have past--perhaps I may be in the wrong.'
'Damnation seize me if I think so!' cries Booth. 'And I wish whoever hath drawn these tears from your eyes may pay it with as many drops of their heart's blood.'
'You see, madam,' cries Mrs. Atkinson, 'you have your bully to take your part; so I suppose you will use your triumph.'
Amelia made no answer, but still kept hold of Booth, who, in a violent
