“I say, Sir,” replied the Captain, “the ladies are quite au desespoir that you will not cover your head.”
“What for?” cried he, “what's the matter with my head? ne'er a man here got a better! very good stuff in it; won't change it with ne'er a one of you!”
And then, half unconscious of the offence he had given, and half angry at the rebuke he had received, he leisurely compleated his design, and again put on his wig, settling it to his face with as much composure as if he had performed the operation in his own dressing-room.
The Captain, having gained his point, walked away, making, however, various grimaces of disgust, and whispering from side to side “he's the most petrifying fellow I ever was obsedé by!”
Mr Briggs then, with much derision, and sundry distortions of countenance, listened to an Italian song; after which, he bustled back to the outer apartment, in search of Cecilia, who, ashamed of seeming a party in the disturbance he had excited, had taken the opportunity of his dispute with the Captain, to run into the next room; where, however, he presently found her, while she was giving an account to Mr Gosport of her connection with him, to which Morrice, ever curious and eager to know what was going forward, was also listening.
“Ah, little chick!” cried he, “got to you again! soon out jostle those jemmy sparks! But where's the supper? see nothing of the supper! Time to go to bed,—suppose there is none; all a take in; nothing but a little piping.”
“Supper, Sir?” cried Cecilia; “the Concert is not over yet. Was supper mentioned in your card of invitation?”
“Ay, to be sure, should not have come else. Don't visit often; always costs money. Wish I had not come now; wore a hole in my shoe; hardly a crack in it before.”
“Why you did not walk, Sir?”
“Did, did; why not? Might as well have stayed away though; daubed my best coat, like to have spoilt it.”