“Dear sir, I protest that you overwhelm me with your compliments,” she cried. “The younger generation have much to learn in courtesy from the one to which you and I belong, sir.”
“Madam,” he said, “you prove the contrary when you couple me with yourself. What are all the compliments which my poor ingenuity could discover compared with that ‘you and I’ which has just come from your lips?”
“Nay, but I can prove that we belong to the same generation, sir; for are not you marrying a lady of the same age as the gentleman who is to be my husband?” she cried, with an exquisite assumption of archness.
“Against such profundity of logic ’twere vain to contend, Mrs. Abington,” he said. “I yield to it, more especially as you prove what I have spent my years trying to prove to myself. Alas, madam! is it not sad that old age should come down upon a man before he has succeeded in convincing himself that he is still young?”
“Mr. Long,” said the lady, “I couple myself with you for our mutual protection.”
“I acknowledge the honour, madam, but appreciate the danger,” said he.
“Let me explain myself, sir.”
“To explain yourself, Mrs. Abington, were to supply a key to the most charming riddle of the century. Let me paraphrase Mr. Dryden:
‘A dame so charming that she seem’d to be
Not one, but womankind’s epitome.’”