

'Oh you may depend upon that,' answered the major.

'And I think,' said Standfast, 'I may venture

to insist that I am not the hypocrite the lady has thought proper to call me.'
'I'll answer for that,' said the major.

'No, no,' repeated the chaplain, 'any scoundrel if you please, Mrs. Malplaquet, but a hypocrite.'

After this, upon asking the major if there was any remaining animosity, his patron shook him heartily by the hand, and swore he believed him to be the worthiest fellow upon earth;
'for where,' said he, 'is there another man who, being in love with your wife, would have the honesty to confess it to your face?'

Having brought this dialogue between tame credulity and unblushing impudence to an end, I shall only add that this worthy friendship seemed to be stronger cemented by what had passed.
The remainder of the conversation turned on their former exploits, in which Standfast did not lose sight of the main point; but enlarged wherever he could on the satisfaction he had always received in administering to the major's pleasures.
At length the major was led off to bed in much

about the same state of inebriety as the reader may remember to have seen Mr. Mildman.
Before I take my leave of this chapter, I shall say a word or two concerning Mrs. Malplaquet.
This lady, who was one of those living sacrifices which avarice offers up at the shrine of interest, had, to say the truth, a very difficult task to perform. Her parents, though sprung from an honourable family, were of a younger branch, and, therefore, could give her but a thousand pounds. The only man she ever loved had deserted her, for a pert piece of deformity with just thirty times that sum. Thus, being perfectly indifferent what became of herself, she gave her hand, as the good chaplain has already kindly noticed, to the major, out of perfect obedience to her friends.
The life she had led since—the only pleasurable moments of which were those she passed alone—may be easily guessed. The audacious importunities of Standfast were much bolder than either he or she had described; and he having repeated them in some way that night so as extremely to offend her—though she was remarkable for complacency and sweetness of temper—her anger had so far got the better of her forbearance, as to force from her that

declaration of Standfast's dishonourable intentions, which the reader has already seen he contrived, by the power he had
