Sir Simon. Bless me! I've made it monstrous inconvenient!
Shuff. Not a bit—I give you my honour, I did'nt find it inconvenient at all. How is Frank Rochdale?
Sir Simon. Why, my son is'nt up yet; and before he's stirring, do let me talk to you, my dear Tom Shuffleton! I have something near my heart, that—
Shuff. Don't talk about your heart, Baronet;—feeling's quite out of fashion.
Sir Simon. Well, then, I'm interested in——
Shuff. Aye, stick to that. We make a joke of the heart, now-a-days; but when a man mentions his interest, we know he's in earnest.
Sir Simon. Zounds! I am in earnest. Let me speak, and call my motives what you will.
Shuff. Speak—but don't be in a passion. We are always cool at the clubs: the constant habit of ruining one another, teaches us temper. Explain.
Sir Simon. Well, I will. You know, my dear Tom, how much I admire your proficiency in the New school of breeding;—you are, what I call, one of the highest finished fellows of the present day.
Shuff. Psha! Baronet; you flatter.