Sir Luke. Yes; your character——that, you know, is all the fortune we poor Englishmen, situated in India, expect with a wife who crosses the sea at the hazard of her life, to make us happy.
Lady. And what but our characters would you have us bring? Do you suppose any lady ever came to India, who brought along with her, friends, or fortune?
Sir Luke. No, my dear—and what is worse—she seldom leaves them behind, either.
Lady. No matter, Sir Luke—but if I delivered to you a good character——
Sir Luke. Yes, my dear you did—and if you were to ask me for it again, I can't say I could give it you.
Lady. How uncivil! how unlike are your manners to the manners of my Lord Flint.
Sir Luke. Ay—you are never so happy as when you have an opportunity of expressing your admiration of him—a disagreeable, nay, a very dangerous man—one is never sure of one's self in his presence—he carries every thing he hears to the ministers of our suspicious Sultan—and I feel my head shake whenever I am in his company.
Lady. How different does his Lordship appear to me—to me he is all politesse.
Sir Luke. Politesse! how shou'd you understand what is real politesse? You know your education was very much confined.—
Lady. And if it was confined——I beg, Sir Luke, you will one time or other cease these reflections—you know they are what I can't bear! [walks about in a passion.] pray, does not his Lordship continually assure me, I might be taken for a Countess, were it not for a certain little groveling toss I have caught with my head—and a certain little confined hitch in my walk? both which I learnt of you—learnt by looking so much at you.—