Miss Hard. Sure you mistake, papa! A French dancing-master could never have taught him that timid look,—that awkward address,—that bashful manner—
Hard. Whose look? whose manner, child?
Miss Hard. Mr. Marlow's: his mauvaise honte, his timidity struck me at the first sight.
Hard. Then your first sight deceived you; for I think him one of the most brazen first-sights that ever astonished my senses.
Miss Hard. Sure, sir, you rally! I never saw any one so modest.
Hard. And can you be serious! I never saw such a bouncing, swaggering puppy, since I was born. Bully Dawson was but a fool to him.
Miss Hardcastle.—"Yes. But upon conditions."—p. 350.
Miss Hard. Surprising! he met me with a respectful bow, a stammering voice, and a look fixed on the ground.
Hard. He met me with a loud voice, a lordly air, and a familiarity that made my blood freeze again.