"Flout you?"
"Constantly, thank Vanus! 'Tis when she's kind I fall i' the dumps."
"God bless me!" exclaimed the Major.
"Look'ee sir, there's Tripp, for instance, dear old bottlenose Ben, she smiles on him and suffers him to bear her fan, misfortunate dog! There's Alton, she permits him to attend her regularly and hand her from chair or coach, poor devil! There's West and Marchdale, I've known her talk with them in corners, unhappy wights! There's Dalroyd——"
"The 'die-away' gentleman?" said the Major.
"O he's death and the devil for her, he is—a sleepy, smouldering flame, rat me! And she is scarce so kind to him I could wish. But as for me, nunky, me she scorns, flouts, contemns and quarrels with, so doth hope sing within me!"
"Hum!" said the Major, clapping on his wig.
"So I am here in the fervent hope that ere the year is out she may be my Viscountess and—O my stricken sawl!"
"What is't, nephew?"
"Aye, sir, that's the question—what? Faith, it might be anything."