"Oh! you don't say so? what do you mean by wicked?"
"Why—why, in short," continued Frederick—"in short, shall I drive you down to Greenwich to dinner?"
"And suppose I should grow wicked on the road?" said I.
"Do you know what the Duke of York says of you Fred?" said Brummell.
"The Duke of York talks in a very nasty way," said Fred Bentinck, "I—I, for my part, hate all immodest conversation."
"And that is the reason why I save up all the odd stories I can learn, for you and for you only," I observed. "And yet you come here every day?"
"As to you," said Fred, "you are a beautiful creature, and I come to try to reform you, or else what will become of you when you grow old?"
"Age cannot wither me, nor custom stale my infinite variety:" was my reply.
"You are mad!" said Fred Bentinck.
"And you are monstrous top-heavy! and madness being often light-headedness, I wish you would go mad too."