"They're all gone after maids."
"Tut, tut, I wish I could make it plain that Curtain Wells exists for the continence, not the encouragement of appetites."
"You must blame the sun, dear Beau."
"In view of the many pleasant hours I have spent basking in the warmth, I should not presume to do anything so ungrateful. But I will remark that the Sun in his human guises is not to be considered a beneficial example to young men at a stage in the history of mankind when maidens are no longer able to transform themselves into umbrageous laurels, thus rendering impertinent and inconvenient what at first seemed appropriate and inevitable. I allude, sir, to the legend of Apollo and Madam Daphne. However, my dear Charles—" here the Beau laid three tapered jewelled fingers upon the extremity of Mr. Lovely's left shoulder.
"You overwhelm me, sir, with your condescension. The omission of the surname by Beau Ripple, is the bestowal of a title."
"Very well put, Charles," said the older man contentedly. "'Fore Gad! you do me credit. Snuff, sir?"
Charles (we may follow the lead of Mr. Ripple) was now veritably astonished. Never could he recall such an instance of the Beau's condescension towards a man of his years; and he dipped his fingers into the proffered snuff-box with greater bashfulness than he would have displayed towards the powder-box of Titania.
"However, though the rest of our young gentlemen are—after maids," the Beau stumbled over the crudity of the phrase, "I am happy to see that you are engrossed by the seemlier pastime of horticulture." Was it fancy or did Charles really see his mentor blow a tuft of swansdown from his cuff? "I wish," the latter went on, "to remonstrate with you on the indecorous character of your midnight entertainments. Owls, under providence, are allowed to shriek and hoot after sundown, but there seems no reason for extending to men the privilege accorded by a Divine Creator to owls. In short, Mr. Lovely, there has been the—there has been an atrocious hurly-burly in this house every night of late. Pray do not interrupt me," he added as Charles made a protesting movement. "I have the fullest Data for my general observations."
"Youth, dear Beau, hot-headed, open-handed Youth."
"Yes, yes, I know something of Youth's anatomy from a personal experience of the happy state, but Youth, Mr. Lovely, is a mighty inadequate justification for a circular scar on the forehead of one of our most respected and silver-tongued watchmen—a scar inflicted by the unconsumed but necessary concomitant of a quart of Burgundy."