MRS. HARDCASTLE. I vow, since inoculation began, there is no such thing to be seen as a plain woman; so one must dress a little particular, or one may escape in the crowd.
HASTINGS. But that can never be your case, madam, in any dress. (Bowing.)
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Yet, what signifies my dressing when I have such a piece of antiquity by my side as Mr. Hardcastle: all I can say will never argue down a single button from his clothes. I have often wanted him to throw off his great flaxen wig, and where he was bald, to plaster it over, like my Lord Pately, with powder.
HASTINGS. You are right, madam; for, as among the ladies there are none ugly, so among the men there are none old.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. But what do you think his answer was? Why, with his usual Gothic vivacity, he said I only wanted him to throw off his wig, to convert it into a tete for my own wearing.
HASTINGS. Intolerable! At your age you may wear what you please, and it must become you.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Pray, Mr. Hastings, what do you take to be the most fashionable age about town?
HASTINGS. Some time ago, forty was all the mode; but I’m told the ladies intend to bring up fifty for the ensuing winter.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Seriously. Then I shall be too young for the fashion.
HASTINGS. No lady begins now to put on jewels till she’s past forty. For instance, Miss there, in a polite circle, would be considered as a child, as a mere maker of samplers.