Marl. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, hang me, I don't see what they find in me to follow. At the ladies' club in town, I'm called their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I'm known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service.
Offering to salute her.
Marlow.—"And why not now, my angel?"—p. 356.
Miss Hard. Hold, sir; you were introducing me to your club, not to yourself. And you're so great a favourite there, you say?
Marl. Yes, my dear; there's Mrs. Mantrap, lady Betty Blackleg, the countess of Sligo, Mrs. Longhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place.
Miss Hard. Then it's a very merry place, I suppose.
Marl. Yes; as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old women, can make us.
Miss Hard. And their agreeable Rattle; ha! ha! ha!
Marl. (Aside.) Egad! I don't quite like this chit. She looks knowing, methinks. You laugh, child!