“Well, Mohun is a trump,” said Stuart. “A new man, but seems made of the right stuff—real steel. What does Mordaunt say of the attack?”
“Only a scout.”
“Right, and this lady is our spoil! She is handsome, is she not? But a more curious face I have never seen. White cheeks and red lips—a sort of devil and angel mixed! Who is she, I wonder, and what was her errand. Something is under it. She gave her name as ‘Mrs. Darke,’—and her horse made me break the tenth commandment, Surry! Lady and courser are splendid.”
“She is certainly a beauty.”
“And what eyes!”
“Dangerous.”
Stuart remained silent for some moments, and then I heard him sigh.
“Do you know, my dear Surry,” he said, “that if people heard us talk in this way, they would call us libertines—immoral—any thing? There are two things that people will not disbelieve about me—that I am impure, and a drunkard! Do you know what a good man was heard to say of me the other day? ‘Stuart would be one of the greatest soldiers in the army, if he did not drink so hard!’ {1} And others add: ‘if he were not a libertine.’ Well, need I defend myself to you, from these charges? I promised my mother in my childhood, never to touch ardent spirits, and a drop has never passed my lips, except the wine of the communion.{2} I know I need not tell you that I am equally guiltless of the other imputation. That person does not live who can say that I ever did any thing improper of that description. And yet I am a drunkard—a libertine—I, who never touched drink, and love but one person in this world!”
{Footnote 1: This was actually said of Stuart.}
{Footnote 2: His words}