“Madam,” said he, “I cannot doubt that the infatuation which, alas! I have never been able to conceal for the beautiful Mrs. Cholmondeley has gained for me a reputation for taste; I trust, madam, that I did not altogether forfeit it by omitting to visit the Rooms last night, where, I hear, she was as usual the cynosure of the most brilliant circle.”
“A truce to compliments, Mr. Sheridan,” said she. “Young men shaped after Apollo have no need for them. Compliments are the makeshifts of the elderly to call away attention from their spindleshanks. Confidences, and not compliments, are what we old women look for from such as you; so prithee, Dick, tell me all about the matter—’twill go no further, I promise you.”
“At no more adorable shrine need I ever hope to confess my virtues, madam,” said he; “but in this matter——”
“Oh, sir, the man who has only virtues to confess soon ceases to interest a confidante,” said she. “But it may be that you consider fighting a duel to be praiseworthy?”
“Let any one cast an aspersion upon Mrs. Cholmondeley in my presence, and I shall prove that a duel is one of the cardinal virtues, madam,” said Dick.
“’Twas not about me you fought Mr. Long at dawn yesterday,” she cried.
“Madam, you may venture on that statement, being aware that Mr. Long is alive to-day,” said Dick.
“I perceive that you and he have entered into a compact to keep the affair a secret,” said she. “Well, though I think that you might make an exception of me, I cannot but acknowledge that you have good taste on your side.”
“I have the mirror of good taste at my side when Mrs. Cholmondeley honours me by stopping her chair while I am in the act of passing her,” said Dick.
“Oh, sir, you are monstrous civil. But if you think that you can keep the details of your duel secret at Bath, you compliment yourself rather than your acquaintance in this town.”