“‘Will you, faith?’ cried Mr. Bruce: ‘Will you be sworn to that? It’s more than I would dare to be for any man alive! Do you really think he has risen to the rank of General, with so little trouble?’
“‘Troth, yes,’ she answered; ‘you men, you know, never deceive men! you have too much honour for that. And as to us women,—ah, troth! the best among you canno’ deceive me! for whenever you say pretty things to me, I make it a rule to believe them all to be true: so the prettier the better!’
“Miss Bell Strange, the youngest daughter, a very sensible little girl, about ten years old, now brought him his tea. He took it, in chucking her under the chin; which was evidently very annoying to her, as a little womanly consciousness is just stealing upon her childhood: but, not heeding that, he again turned to me, and said, ‘Do you know, Miss Burney, that I intend to run away with Bell? We are going to Scotland together. She won’t let me rest till I take her to Gretna Green.’
“‘La! how can you say so, sir,?’ cried Bell, colouring, and much fidgetted. ‘Pray, Ma’am, don’t believe it!’
“‘Why, how now, Bell?—What! won’t you go?’
“‘No, sir, I won’t!’ answered Bell, very demurely.
“‘Well,’ cried he, with a scoffing smile, and rising, ‘this is the first lady that ever refused me.’
“He then inquired of Mrs. Strange whether she had heard any thing lately of Lord R., of whom they joined in drawing a most odious character; especially for his avarice. And when they had finished the portrait, Mr. Bruce, advancing his great figure towards me, exclaimed, ‘And yet this man is my rival!’
“‘Really?’ cried I, hardly knowing what he expected I should say, but afraid to affront him by a second total silence.
“‘O, it’s true!’ returned he, in a tone that implied though not credible; ‘Is it not true, Mrs. Strange, that he is my rival?’