Man. Why truly, for her purpose, I think not.
Sir Fran. Only naw and tan, he—he stonds a leetle too much upon ceremony; that's his fault.
Man. O never fear! he'll mend that every day——Mercy on us! what a head he has!
Sir Fran. So! here they come!
Enter Lady Wronghead, Count Basset, and Mrs. Motherly.
Lady Wrong. Cousin Manly! this is infinitely obliging! I am extremely glad to see you.
Man. Your most obedient Servant, Madam; I am glad to see your Ladyship look so well, after your Journey.
Lady Wrong. Why really! coming to London is apt to put a little more life in one's looks.
Man. Yet the way of living here, is very apt to deaden the complexion——and give me leave to tell you, as a friend, Madam, you are come to the worst place in the world, for a good woman to grow better in.