“But he has won her already,” said Mrs. Crewe.
“Nay, she has only promised to marry him,” said Mrs. Thrale, with the smile of the sapient one.
“It will be time enough for him to think of winning her after he has married her,” remarked Mrs. Cholmondeley.
“I would not be so sure of that,” said Mrs. Thrale. “Procrastination in a lover can be carried too far. Is not that your opinion, Mr. Garrick?”
“Madam, I feel like the negro who was choked when endeavouring to swallow a diamond: I am so overwhelmed by the jewels of wisdom which you have flung before me that I am incapable of expressing any opinion,” said Garrick.
“You are far from being complimentary to Mrs. Thrale if you suggest that you have failed to assimilate her precious words, sir,” said Mrs. Cholmondeley.
“Nay, ’twas not the negro and the diamond that was in Mr. Garrick’s mind,” said Mrs. Crewe. “’Twas Macbeth and his ‘Amen.’ We have seen Macbeth’s ‘Amen’ stick in your throat more than once, Mr. Garrick, and I vow that when Mrs. Thrale asked you just now to say the word that would hall-mark her wisdom, as it were, the same expression was on your face.”
“Madam, I would scorn to contradict a lady unless I differed from her,” said Garrick; “but I repeat, there will be no duel.”
“Why, who was talking about duels, sir?” inquired Mrs. Crewe. “Lud! Mr. Garrick, duels was the topic of five minutes ago, and time at Bath is precious.”