"Bachelor, you know, bachelor!" said Deerhurst, grinning.
"What the devil has that to do with it?" exclaimed Berkeley.
Deerhurst excused himself, declaring that tears, even sham ones, must be spontaneous: "And yet," said he, sinking into an arm-chair, and again taking out the selfsame dirty, little, red, calico pocket-handkerchief, "and yet, though I appear a wild, profligate, hardened young man, I never think of that sweet girl Sophia without its bringing tears into my eyes:" and he blubbered aloud, and again the big tears rolled down his cheeks.
"This would melt a heart of stone," I observed, putting on my cloak, "so I am off."
"What! won't you have any more?" said Deerhurst, jumping up and laughing.
"Capital!" exclaimed Berkeley, taking up his hat.
"Why, you are not going to trust yourself in that rake's carriage alone?" said Deerhurst to me.
"I am afraid there is no danger," answered I.
"Some of the most virtuous ladies in England have been attacked by the gay colonel until they have called out murder; and two of them lost their diamond brooches coming from the Opera, before they could get hold of the check-string——"