“Old? no, no such thing; about my own standing.”
“What, Sir, and do you propose him for an husband to Miss Beverley?”
“Why not? know ever a one warmer? think Master Harrel will get her a better? or t'other old Don, in the grand square?”
“If you please, Sir,” cried Cecilia hastily, “we will talk of this matter another time.”
“No, pray,” cried young Delvile, who could not forbear laughing, “let it be discussed now.”
“Hate 'em,” continued Mr Briggs, “hate 'em both! one spending more than he's worth, cheated and over-reached by fools, running into gaol to please a parcel of knaves; t'other counting nothing but uncles and grandfathers, dealing out fine names instead of cash, casting up more cousins than guineas—”
Again Cecilia endeavoured to silence him, but, only chucking her under the chin, he went on, “Ay, ay, my little duck, never mind 'em; one of 'em i'n't worth a penny, and t'other has nothing in his pockets but lists of the defunct. What good will come of that? would not give twopence a dozen for 'em! A poor set of grandees, with nothing but a tie-wig for their portions!”
Cecilia, unable to bear this harangue in the presence of young Delvile, who, however, laughed it off with a very good grace, arose with an intention to retreat, which being perceived by Sir Robert Floyer, who had attended to this dialogue with haughty contempt, he came forward, and said, “now then, madam, may I have the honour of your hand?”
“No, Sir,” answered Cecilia, “I am engaged.”
“Engaged again?” cried he, with the air of a man who thought himself much injured.