“After all, I can’t go to jail—I can’t let myself be arrested—I can’t starve—I can’t be a beggar,” said Buckhurst; “and, as you say, I should be so easy if these cursed debts were paid—and if I got this living of nine hundred a year, how comfortable I should be! Then I could marry, by Jove! and I’d propose directly for Caroline Percy, for I’m confoundedly in love with her—such a sweet tempered, good creature!—not a girl so much admired! Colonel Hauton, and G——, and P——, and D——, asked me, ‘Who is that pretty girl?’—She certainly is a very pretty girl.”
“She certainly is,” repeated John. “This devil of a fellow never cleans my gun.”
“Not regularly handsome, neither,” pursued Buckhurst; “but, as Hauton says, fascinating and new; and a new face in public is a great matter. Such a fashionable-looking figure, too—though she has not come out yet; dances charmingly—would dance divinely, if she would let herself out; and she sings and plays like an angel, fifty times better than our two precious sisters, who have been at it from their cradles, with all the Signor Squalicis at their elbows. Caroline Percy never exhibits in public: the mother does not like it, I suppose.”
“So I suppose,” said John. “Curse this flint!—flints are growing worse and worse every day—I wonder what in the world are become of all the good flints there used to be!”
“Very unlike our mother, I am sure,” continued Buckhurst. “There are Georgiana and Bell at all the parties and concerts as regularly as any of the professors, standing up in the midst of the singing men and women, favouring the public in as fine a bravura style, and making as ugly faces as the best of them. Do you remember the Italian’s compliment to Miss * * * * *?—I vish, miss, I had your assurance.’”
“Very good, ha!—very fair, faith!” said John. “Do you know what I’ve done with my powder horn?”
“Not I—put it in the oven, may be, to dry,” said Buckhurst. “But as I was saying of my dear Caroline—My Caroline! she is not mine yet.”
“Very true,” said John.
“Very true! Why, John, you are enough to provoke a saint!”
“I was agreeing with you, I thought,” said John.