You begin by being sorry for your sweetheart and you end by being sorry for yourself.

Well--well, a woman must go her own way or she wouldn't be a woman.

What have you there ?" Lavinia was holding out a parcel.
"'Tis a play, sir, that Mr.Vane has written." "And why did he write it?
Who asked him?
Who wants plays ?" "I--I don't know," Lavinia stammered dismally.

She felt her ardour was being damped.

"Mr.Vane begged me to bring it to you, sir, and I couldn't refuse, could I?
It was this way.