“Because, since my Lord Sayle hath ceased to be, I languish for an object, Hector. The country wearies me.”
“Aye! An’ whaur are ye intendin’ for?”
“London or Paris, perchance both.”
“Ou aye! An’ whiles ye’re gallivantin’ yonder, what o’ the puir, sweet lass wha’s breakin’ her heart for ye? What o’ Rose—no, the Leddy Herminia?”
“I venture to think her heart, if she hath one, is as sound as ever——”
“Ha! O man, I whiles wonder at ye!”
“Faith, Hector, the heart o’ your finished coquette is a tough morsel——”
“And—ye loved her once, John!”
“I admit the folly, Hector. But my lady, happily for me, very deliberately and effectively killed that very preposterously foolish passion.”
“She slaughtered it unco’ quick, John, I’m thinkin’!”