Beau. D—— all pins for dropping upon the floor and the chambermaids for not picking them up, and my own feet for treading on them.
Then he danced again.
Beau. D—— all beds for being wide.
Then he danced.
Beau. D—— my eyes, I shall be late for the waters.
Then he danced to his mirrour. And the mirrour showed a man of ripe age with smooth round face and a pair of very blue eyes.
Beau. And d—— you, Ripple, for a clumsy old fool.
Hereupon the Great little Man beamed at himself, for the nature of him was so truly kind that he could not be crossed by himself for long, and as for the world, his severity never upset the balance of a well-turned phrase. He was an urbane man, one who had presumably lived all his life in prim and decorous cities but, since he will preside over this story of mine, we shall learn more about him as we go along.
Further round the Crescent, Mrs. Choke let furnished apartments to valetudinarian bachelors, and in one of the brightest of these, Mr. Francis Vernon sat before his looking glass contemplatively combing his wig. His closely cropped curly hair accentuated the lines of a profile already inclined to sharpness, just as his red lips enhanced the surrounding paleness of his complexion. He combed his wig very much as a man strokes a cat. The caress half-felt loses itself in speculation, and just now Mr. Vernon was gazing at the wrought-iron balcony of the opposite house where Miss Phyllida Courteen, all swansdown and rosy cheeks, was plucking half a dozen snowdrops from a bough-pot. These were to be enclosed in a note and sent by the hand of the first pleasant-looking passer-by to Miss Sukey Morton in the Western Colonnade. And the aforesaid Miss Morton would, in the estimation of Miss Courteen, simper and blush and confide in her dear Phyllida that, though she had known he admired her and indeed, had proffered her a dropped fan more than once at the Monday Assemblies, yet never, never had she for a moment imagined that he would dare to send her a Valentine, and if he had, she would have died rather than take it, yes, died, for what she would do when she passed him next Monday evening, she could not think, especially as he was known to be partial to her, and her Mechlin pinner was quite ruined by the abominable wax-candles they would use just because the P—— of W—— was not coming that year after all.