Lady Grace. But pray! in such sort of family dialogues (tho' extremely well for passing the time) don't there, now and then, enter some little witty sort of bitterness?
Lady Town. O yes! which does not do amiss at all! A smart repartee, with a zest of recrimination at the head of it, makes the prettiest sherbet; Ay, ay! if we did not mix a little of the acid with it, a matrimonial Society would be so luscious, that nothing but an old liquorish prude would be able to bear it.
Lady Grace. Well,——certainly you have the most elegant taste——
Lady Town. Tho' to tell you the truth, my Dear, I rather think we squeez'd a little too much lemon into it, this bout; for it grew so sour at last, that—I think——I almost told him, he was a fool——and he again——talk'd something oddly of——turning me out of doors.
Lady Grace. O! have a care of that!
Lady Town. Nay, if he should, I may thank my own wise father for that——
Lady Grace. How so?
Lady Town. Why——when my good Lord first open'd his honourable trenches before me, my unaccountable Papa, in whose hands I then was, gave me up at discretion.
Lady Grace. How do you mean?
Lady Town. He said, the wives of this age were come to that pass, that he would not desire even his own Daughter should be trusted with pin-money; so that my whole train of separate inclinations are left entirely at the mercy of an husband's odd humours.