Sir C. Clifford, do you mean to laugh at me?
Cliff. What is your opinion, Lady Emily?
Lady E. [Endeavouring again at Vivacity.] That there may be such: but it's odds they are troublesome or insipid. Pure ingenuousness, I take it, is a rugged sort of thing, which scarcely will bear the polish of common civility; and for disinterestedness—young people sometimes set out with it; but it is like travelling upon a broken spring—one is glad to get it mended at the next stage.
Sir C. Emily, I protest you seem to study after me; proceed, child, and we will read together every character that comes in our way.
Lady E. Read one's acquaintance——delightful! What romances, novels, satires, and mock heroics present themselves to my imagination! Our young men are flimsy essays; old ones, political pamphlets; coquets, fugitive pieces; and fashionable beauties, a compilation of advertised perfumery, essence of pearl, milk of roses, and Olympian dew.——Lord, I should now and then though turn over an acquaintance with a sort of fear and trembling.
Cliff. How so?
Lady E. Lest one should pop unaware upon something one should not, like a naughty speech in an old comedy; but it is only skipping what would make one blush.
Sir C. Or if you did not skip, when a woman reads by herself, and to herself, there are wicked philosophers, who doubt whether her blushes are very troublesome.
Lady E. [To Sir Clement.] Do you know now that for that speech of yours—and for that saucy smile of yours, [To Clifford.] I am strongly tempted to read you both aloud!