"Mine were made by a man in the Haymarket," Bentinck observed, looking down at them with much pride; for he very seldom sported anything new.
"My dear fellow, take them off directly!" said Brummell.
"I beg I may hear of no such thing," said I, hastily—"else, where would he go to, I wonder, without his small-clothes?"
"You will drive me out of the house, Harriette," said Fred Bentinck; and then put himself into attitudes, looking anxiously and very innocently, from George Brummell to his leather breeches, and from his leather breeches to the looking-glass.
"They only came home this morning," proceeded Fred, "and I thought they were rather neat."
"Bad knees, my good fellow! bad knees!" said Brummell, shrugging up his shoulders.
"They will do very well," I remarked. "Fred Bentinck do start a new subject, for first with my latter end and then with your own, this is quite worn out."
"I am sorry," said Fred Bentinck, "very sorry to say that I am afraid you will turn out bad."
"What do you call bad?"
"Why profligate! and wicked."