“‘Three days?’ repeated Mr. Bruce; ‘why marriage is a more formidable thing there than even here!’
“Then came music, and the incomparable duet; which, as they could not forbear encoring, filled up all the rest of the evening, till the company at large departed; for there were several persons present whom I have not mentioned, being of no zest for your notice.
“Mr. Bruce, however, with the Stranges, again consented to stay supper; which, you know, with us, is nothing but a permission to sit over a table for chat, and roast potatoes, or apples.
“But now, to perfect your acquaintance with this towering Ethiopian, where do you think he will take you during supper?
“To the source, or sources, you cry, of the Nile? to Thebes? to its temple? to an arietta on the Theban Harp? or, perhaps, to banquetting on hot raw beef in Abyssinia?
“No such thing, my dear Mr. Crisp, no such thing. Travellers who mean to write their travels, are fit for nothing but to represent the gap at your whist table at Chesington, when you have only three players; for they are mere dummies.
“Mr. Bruce left all his exploits, his wanderings, his vanishings, his re-appearances, his harps so celestial, and his bullocks so terrestrial, to plant all our entertainment within a hundred yards of our own coterie; namely, at the masquerades at the Haymarket.
“Thus it was. He inquired of Mrs. Strange where he could find Mrs. Twoldham, a lady of his acquaintance; a very fine woman, but remarkably dissipated, whom he wished to see.
“‘Troth,’ Mrs. Strange answered, ‘she did not know; but if he would take a turn to a masquerade or two, he would be sure to light upon her, as she never missed one.’
“‘What,’ cried he, laughing, ‘has she not had enough yet of masquerades? Brava, Mrs. Twoldham! I honour your spirit.’